


The Tales of Thorin & Jessamine

by thehobbiwriter



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Consensual Sex, Crack, Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Feels, Fluff, Graphic Sex, Non-Sexual Slavery, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehobbiwriter/pseuds/thehobbiwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows the relationship between our beloved king Thorin and a benevolent human maiden. This work is set in an Alternate Universe wherein the Battle of Five Armies does not claim the lives of Thorin, Fili, or Kili. It is a few years after the battle, and Thorin has re-established the kingdom of Erebor and reigns as its king. Varying content from mild to explicit. I will denote what sort of content at the beginning of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Steady Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The company of Thorin Oakenshield, and one seemingly out of place human woman, are forced to share a bed on a cold winter's night when Erebor's boilers meet an untimely end. (Mild content)

     She woke, quite abruptly, from a light slumber to the sound of someone’s meaty fist hammering on her door with excessive force and urgency. Hurriedly, she climbed out from under the furs on her small bed, immediately feeling the chilled, winter air, and sprinted across her humble chamber to sling the door ajar. Her heart had set to racing before she even saw who had come knocking; there stood Dwalin, great brute of a dwarf, scowling down at her. He offered her no time to utter any word, only abruptly and matter-of-factly stated that she needed to gather all her blankets and pillows and convene in the king’s bedchamber. He then rotated on his great heel, without any discussion, to stomp his way on to the next door down the dark passageway. Beginning his process again with _its_ occupant.  
     She stepped halfway into the hallway calling after him, “What on earth for?!”  
     He made no move to acknowledge her, other than to reply out in a clipped tone, “Boiler’s shot. So, if ye don’t then ye’ll freeze to death.”  
 _Oh, bother_. Well if the boiler was out then what difference would it make if she slept elsewhere? Just then she noticed that the other dwarves were grumbling and shuffling their way down the hall and into the chamber as well. Surely this cannot mean…  
     Balin, her tutor, waddled up to her door then, offering her his familiar, sincere smile. He always had a quick grin and a kind word whenever he talked to her, for which she was grateful. Were it not for his infinite kindness and enthusiasm for the whole endeavor, she would not have ever accepted his offer to have her study under him.  
     “Need any help, lass?”  
     “No…no, I’m sure I can manage. Balin, why are we being made to go to Tho--the king’s quarters?”  
     “Oh, well the boiler’s down, dear. That means this whole place is going to be right cold in the next few hours. I’d say you can feel a difference in the temperature already. Best to get your things and head down with me, I’ll make sure you get a nicer spot in with the lads.”  
     He waited dutifully in the doorway for her while she assembled her bed things, then they both strolled together to the great master suite at the end of the looming antechamber.  
     As she entered the room she noticed that the rest of the unruly dwarves were climbing into and about the massive bed, which could most effortlessly accommodate a dozen or more individuals. They had begun to situate themselves in the bedstead, some at the foot, and some at the head, with their feet all arranged towards the center. She could see that Gloin and Oin had already dozed back off in their respective places, snoring lightly and completely oblivious to Nori and Dori who were close by them, quarreling. Bombur was rolling about, struggling to get comfortable with the help of his brother, Bofur, who was offering jibes at him and sniggering with gusto. Bifur stood to the side of the bed staring off into the distance, mumbling under his breath. Ori was soundlessly lying next to his bickering brothers, being quiet and un-bothersome. Fili and Kili were both sitting side by side, whispering and chuckling to themselves, as if some great joke was afoot. Dwalin sat ramrod straight, shouting at Dori and Nori to ‘cease their damned squabbling’ and threatening to force them into silence with his fists, and Balin was shuffling his way from beside her to take his place amongst the throng.  
     Surprisingly, they were all rather rowdy, despite having been roused this early in the morning from their beds, to the melodious tune of a gurgling, screeching boiler as it ungracefully greeted its ill-timed death. She marveled at how they managed to draw energy from thin air in such a way. _So, we are all to sleep in this bed then,_ she thought.  
     She seized a moment to appreciate the finery in this room; expansive fur rugs (that looked comfortable enough to sleep on themselves) were all over the flagstone ground, the fireplace that could house a six foot blaze, several opulent, woven tapestries full of rich colors and Khudzul lettering, quite a few pieces of ornately carved fixtures, and a giant trunk at the foot of the bed, to name a few of the wonders to be seen.  
     So wrapped up in her admiration was she, that she only barely caught her name being called by the younger dwarf prince, Kili, who had a broad cheeky grin aimed at her. She smiled sheepishly in response, walked over hesitantly to the bed and began contributing her blankets to the amassing heap that already adorned the bed. Once she had completed that, she was ushered by the excitable princes to claim the vacancy alongside Balin, leaving a single available place beside her, on the edge of the mattress.  
     She was contemplating the diverse group at greater length when she noticed a shadow in the doorway. She knew it was him, for any other person it could possibly be was already in the room. She flicked her gaze away quickly as a ball of anxiety began to tighten up in her gut as she revisited the knowledge of the unoccupied spot beside her.  
     He was in his nightclothes with a saturated blue robe thrown hastily on his wide shoulders. He stood, obscured in the doorway, taking stock of the bunch of misfits in much the same way she just had: with amusement and a degree of fondness. He lingered there for what seemed an impossibly long time, then moved to check all the windows, for drafts she guessed, and to roll some blankets to stuff in any nooks or crannies that may yet be letting in the icy, winter air. The other dwarves, upon becoming aware of his presence in the room, quietened and regarded him closely, as if waiting for instructions. When he proffered none, they took to settling in their places to be ready to sleep at a moment’s notice. They continued to watch him, as though waiting for a cue that would tell them to sleep.  
     She followed suit, snuggling down in the covers, and turning to face Balin’s back. As she approvingly ran her hand along the feather down blanket, she was highly alert to the sound of him stirring about the chamber. He tossed a few extra logs on the blazing fire, eliciting a few loud snaps, and then moved closer to her, pausing for a moment, leaving her in agonizing suspense.  Suddenly, she felt the bed dip from his weight as he climbed in behind her. She was about to tell him that he needn’t worry about keeping her warm, until he began sliding his arm under her pillow and beneath her head, and fastening his arm over her, pulling her up firmly in an iron embrace. She stiffened with mild panic, hesitant of the situation, and entirely unprepared for it. He seemed to have a steel will in the matter though, and she knew without having to test her theory that he was not going to move, or relinquish the hold he had on her.  
     She began to feel the warmth that radiated through his nightshirt and onto her back, traveling across her skin in a delicious wave of heat, before seeping into her very bones. She stifled a contented sigh, knowing that would be entirely inappropriate in an already improprietous situation. She discovered that she could not will herself to relax, it was as if her entire being was alert to his presence. She felt all at once excited, frightened, and, strangely, comforted by his domineering body pressed against hers. She was mindful of his sturdy hand curled up under her ribs and his thick forearm pressed against her stomach holding her securely, yet it was relaxed and she felt the weight of it. For a moment she lost herself in a fantasy where that very same hand would roam over her now sensitized skin, stopping her willful thoughts just short of another unwelcome sigh.  
     She could feel that his breathing was controlled as well, though she suspected it to be more from his distaste of the situation than from any of the myriad emotions racing through _her_ mind, and she felt guilty for it. She had her suspicions that he was unhappy with her presence here in Erebor, and she tried hard not to aggravate his opinion of her. For this reason, she didn’t want him to feel obligated to keep her warm, but he was nothing if not courteous and polite towards her, despite his reservations about her.    
     She concentrated her every effort on sleep, though she adamantly thought it to be a hopeless endeavor. A combination of the night terrors and visions that keep her up most nights and this new encroaching desire for the unwavering dwarf king whose arms she now found herself in, were sure to make it a sleepless night. This, coupled with the various rumblings coming from the other inhabitants of the room, a mixture of loud snores, hurried whispers,  & shuffling feet. She could even faintly hear Dwalin and Fili arguing over the space between them, it would seem Fili wasn’t comfortable with Dwalin’s proximity and Dwalin couldn’t care less.  
     After a time, and despite her trepidation, she felt the numbing cloud of sleep descend upon her like a fine mist and her body relaxed further into his with an airy sigh. In her haze she was vaguely aware of his heartbeat thumping steadfastly against her, reverberating through her. She was cradled in the strong circle of his arms, and comforted by his rhythmic breathing.  
     Before she was lost entirely to slumber, she felt him ease heavily into her, as he, too, lost the battle against fatigue. His arms instinctively encircled about her more tightly, his thickset legs curled up with hers, and his head dipped forward to rest against hers. He took in a deep breath just behind her ear, then exhaled hotly, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. She smiled faintly, relishing and accepting the unexpected comfort she found here, in his secure arms. Then she submitted herself to sleep, and, in part, to him; and she was carried away on a veil of pleasant dreams and deep, untroubled sleep, the quality of which, she had never known.


	2. Night Owls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessamine enjoys a quiet moment in the kitchens of Erebor to herself, in the middle of the night. Until, that is, she is joined by another who suffers from a similar insomnia to her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is woefully short in comparison to later chapters; but it's a chapter all the same. (Mild content)

     It felt as though she had been here, in this very situation, countless times before. It was very late, and all the rest of her companions have been at rest for hours. Standing at the island in the dimly lit kitchen, buried deep within the mountain, she was enveloped in the nostalgia of being alone, in the dark and stagnant quiet. She had become accustomed to indulging in midnight snacks, losing herself in a tome, or wandering about in the shadows in search of something, she never knew what. She had never been an easy sleeper, and when she did sleep it was disturbed, always plagued by nightmares of her past, visions of bandits setting fire to the small settlement, flames licking at the thin walls of her childhood home and the grisly death of her parents. She was so fearful of being found and dragged back to the desolate existence that followed their deaths, in the servitude of men with no measure of humanity, that sleep only made her feel exposed and vulnerable.  
     Still, she could not deny that she had slept more, and less fretfully since she arrived here, in Erebor. It had been a few weeks now since Balin had invited her to come and study under both his and Oin's tutelage, having found her to be quite apt in the medicinal and academical arts. Balin had held a soft spot for her since they first spoke on one of his many visits to Dale, and after a brief time of getting to know her he had petitioned King Thorin to allow him leave to take her under his wing. He was met with no small amount of opposition on the proposed undertaking; but as he remained stalwart in his wishes and gave no quarter to the king as far as backing down was concerned, Thorin finally relented and agreed to let Balin bring her to Erebor. Were it not for Thorin holding Balin in high esteem and trusting him as an advisor, it surely would not have been permitted. Despite the obvious air of uncertainty and secrecy that seemed to follow her everywhere she went in the great fortress city, she had adjusted remarkably well. She felt that they were all of them at least tolerant of her presence, and even believed she was making friends with the two charming young princes.  
     She took a sip of the fragrant tea clutched in her cold hands, a brew of her own invention that would sometimes help settle her rampant mind, and pushed from her thoughts the nagging notion that came forth, asserting that she had slept very well the other night when the boiler had gone down.  
     Yes, the boiler had gone down in the middle of the night, submersing the place in the icy chill that can only come from being so deep underground. They had all amassed together in the king’s colossal bed, for it would not be repaired until morning, and huddled together for warmth under a proper pile of throws and furs. Somehow or other she had been positioned right next to him in the throng, squeezed between his and another’s rock solid build. She could not even remember who the other body belonged to now, for she was entirely concentrated on him. He had understandably felt duty-bound to share his body heat with her in the most respectable manner he could manage, but had inevitably clutched her closely against himself in the throes of profound slumber. She tried to get rid of the idea of his arms, steady and sturdy, wrapped about her, or his bolstering warmth enveloping her, and how she had so effortlessly slipped into a deep sleep, the nature of which she had never known. And she most certainly wasn’t going to think of how severely she had ached for that feeling of security every night since then.  
     She grasped her wrap closely about her, warding off the chilled air, sighing into her mug as she afforded herself a moment to reminisce in the memory of that evening. Then she heard footsteps echoing down the corridor towards her, sending her heart lurching into her throat. No one was ever up at this hour. She looked about hastily, evaluating her surroundings and formulating strategies of attack, when he appeared in the doorway.  
     In spite of the number of times she had rested eyes on him, her breath left her in a rapid pant, and her knees turned weak against her will. Thank heavens the stone counter was right behind her to provide support. There he stood, as if summoned by her wayward thoughts, in his nearly translucent nightshirt that was untied in the front, which revealed dark curls across his broad torso, and complementary breeches that were strained thin over his dense thighs. He evidently had not intended to meet anyone this night. She pulled her eyes from their exploration of his musculature to his face, that face that captivated her with its complexity, to see him looking as startled to see her as she was pleased to see him.  
     After a moment he offered her a small smile, remarking on their being similar in their failure to sleep, and she wondered if his lack of sleep was owing to the same desire as hers. She insisted on preparing him a cup of tea, stealing glances at him over her shoulder, wherever possible. His beautiful face was tainted with his fatigue, weary eyes fixated on his sturdy hands folded before him on the counter, as if he were lost in thought, or concentrating hard on something or other. She longed so deeply to relax his perpetual frown, to clear away whatever troublesome thoughts disquieted his mind. Unbidden, her eyes roamed over him once more; devouring his distinguished, wavy hair that cascaded over his broad shoulders with heavy beads that twinkled in his silver streaked mane, his noble brow and earnest eyes, and even starting to journey lower over his tight abdomen until she came to her senses, and quickly composed herself. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop the familiar warmth from welling up through her like a blossom in spring, spreading from her groin out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. She didn’t feel the chill anymore.  
     Gently, she presented the mug of tea to him, leaning back against the counter once more and delighting in soft conversation with him. She fixated on his defined mouth, marveling at how desperately she craved those lips against her own. She wagered they would be firm, yet soft, and demanding in their pursuits. She could fairly feel them pressed at the tender spot below her ear, making their way down the column of her throat. Breathing faintly now, she met his eyes once more, only to see that they were watching her intently. _Oh, no._ She stilled, not at all acquainted with the expression she met in his eyes, his face was as stoic as ever, but there was something in his eyes. A spark of some mysterious sentiment, but just as soon as she had seen it, it vanished to be replaced by his more familiar, guarded gaze.  
     Abruptly he stood, thanking her for the tea and turning to make a hasty retreat. He paused in the doorway, and in a controlled voice wished her a good night’s rest, and then he was gone. Had she offended him? Perhaps her admiration of his lips had not gone unnoticed, and he mistook it for disinterest in his dialogue. Oh, I surely hope not. She let out a deep breath that she must have been holding since he arrived, only now detecting her racing heartbeat and suffused cheeks. Why on earth does she react to him in this fashion?  
     She inhaled deeply, collecting both of their mugs to deposit them in the basin to be washed, and turned to make her way back to her chamber, puzzling still over the confounded way she behaves around him.


	3. Stitching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin sustains some wounds from a small skirmish that Jessa is given the task of tending to. She walks away from the night's exciting developments with quite a new view of Thorin Oakenshield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice and lengthy installment, and one of my personal favorites! (Mild to Mature content)

     Thorin had received word during dinner that night that a pack of orcs had breached the western borders of Erebor, so he had recruited a few of his dependable company to investigate the potential threat by way of a hunt. Kili and Fili had appeared thrilled with the prospect straightaway, practically bouncing out of their chairs with energy, and entirely impatient to get going. Dwalin showed slight interest in the likelihood of slicing off a few appendages, but was much more displeased about leaving his half-eaten supper than any excitement could diffuse, and Thorin merely seemed as if he were weary of the task before it had even begun.  
     After the dwarves had set out on their errand, Jessa and Balin had busied themselves about the place, readying various medical supplies and checking their stores of each. She had even consulted Oin one final time to certify that her stitching was sufficient, and he assured her, for the umpteenth time, that her skills were unquestionable. After their countless checking and rechecking, they felt they were prepared to tend to the inevitable wounds that the dwarves would bring back with them. So, they spent the rest of their time in the common room, savoring quiet conversation, until the party returned.  
     When they did come back several hours later, there was no doubting that it was, indeed, them. You could have heard the raucous assembly of dwarves from miles away, carrying on as though returning from a great, festive celebration, and not a vicious battle. Upon hearing their advancement, she and Balin moved to the foyer together, waiting anxiously to see the damage. Well, _she_ waited anxiously, Balin waited with infinite patience. She was not, however, quite prepared for the filthy, bloodied bodies that greeted her.  
     There stood four dwarves on the doorstep, covered and caked in blood, sweat, and dirt. Almost nothing could be recognized between them, save for their shining eyes and bright, dazzling grins. They were _smiling,_ and _laughing_ with each other. As if they had no idea how they looked, or how dangerous their task had evidently been. Try as she might, she might never understand the mystery of a dwarvish man’s mind.  
     While she stood, entirely dumbfounded at their absolute disregard for their own skins, Balin shepherded them all inside. He directed Fili and Kili to seek out Oin, and had begun to direct Dwalin as well, until he was cut off with a grumble, and Dwalin pushed past him, headed off to the kitchen in search of ale and food scraps. Balin knew better than to insist where his insufferable brother was concerned, so he moved on instead to Thorin, leading him back to his chambers, and calling for Jessa to follow when she didn’t immediately move. Despite her preoccupied state, she did not miss the uncertain look that Thorin exchanged with Balin when he realized that Balin meant to have her sit in on the process. He remained silent, though, and continued down the hallway to his bedchambers alongside Balin, with Jessa following along silently.  
     Balin hurried into the room, immediately bidding Thorin to remove his soiled tunic so that he might see the damage. Thorin flicked another uncertain gaze towards Jessa who stood to the side, before turning his back to her, to face Balin. Slowly he pulled the garment up over his head, letting it fall gently to the side. She sucked in a deep breath at the picture of his stout arms flexing with the effort, and the way in which his heavy hair fell down onto his broad back once it was free of the tunic. His back was glistening with the residual sweat from his exertions in battle, smattered with blood and dirt from the skirmish, and she noticed, also, blemished by a rather large laceration on his lower back that disappeared into his breeches.  
     Her attention drifted back into their conversation just as Balin was directing Thorin to wash himself, and to clean out his wounds as best he could. Then Balin made his way to the door, muttering about reckless lads, and somehow or other her preoccupied mind told her unwilling feet to follow. They left Thorin alone in the room to conduct the task set to him.  
     Balin led her back to the medical supply stores and started loading clean towels and fresh clothing in her arms. She recognized that she should be heeding whatever Balin was saying to her, but, try as she might, she could not rid herself of the recurring image of Thorin disrobing, and it was arresting her attentions to a point that Balin’s voice was naught but a warbled humming.  
     The dwarf king was so inherently strong, but he was graceful in the same right. He carried himself regally, like a king should, and he had an air of confidence and world-wise intelligence. These characteristics had intimidated her when first she came here, but now she was beginning to see him differently, to understand his guarded disposition more. He was starting to accept her presence here, and she was becoming more attuned to the ways of his people, and wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes nearly so often. She had assimilated well, and she believed that he appreciated that.  
     Suddenly Balin was looking to her, expectantly. A flush of embarrassment seeped over her cheeks,  
     “I’m sorry, Balin. What was that?”  
     “I asked if you would mind running these linens up to Thorin’s room. I need to check in on the lads and make sure they are cooperating with Oin.”  
     She looked down to the bundle she had acquired, unknowingly.  
     “Oh. Oh, right. Of course. No problem.”  
     She turned on her heel, and carried the bundle of soft cargo down the vaulted corridors to stand directly in front of Thorin’s great oaken door. She raised her hand deliberately, keeping it held aloft, unsure of herself, and summoning all her wits about her as she dashed all vulgar thoughts from her head. Lightly she rapped on the door, listening intently for an answer. But, even after waiting entirely too long for a reply, she heard none. _Perhaps he’s finished,_ she thought. Gradually, and very gently, she inched the door open to peek her head inside. She didn’t see him at first, so she had stepped halfway into the steamy chamber before her eyes settled on him, and she halted in place, her breath caught in a tight lump in her throat.  
     He was poised before his dresser, using the wash basin there to clean some of his wounds more thoroughly. He was, however, completely without garment, and still damp from his bath. His dark hair was plastered in wavy pieces all over his misty back and shoulders, and it was still soaked and dripping down his back. She learned that the inherent strength she found in him, could in fact, be found in _every_ part of his body, at least of what she could see now. His legs were like marble columns, immovable and sturdy, exactly how they had seemed the night they were curled up with hers. And his bottom, well, it was perfectly rounded and robust, and almost unmarred save for the fresh wound she had noticed earlier, which extended from the dimple in his lower back to just under his right hip. She felt a sudden, and unwarranted desire to run her hands over the smooth flesh there, she could just imagine how firm it would feel beneath her fingertips.  
     She tarried there for entirely too long, just admiring his form and the simple motions he made as he cleaned a particularly deep cut in his arm. The simple act of shifting his weight from one dense leg to the other delighted her. By some grace of mercy she snapped back to her senses, and quickly and quietly slipped the burden from her arms onto a nearby chair, darting stealthily back out the door and shutting it soundlessly behind her. She leaned heavily against the door, her hands and knees trembling slightly as she allowed her racing heartbeat to quieten itself. But, it had no intention of decreasing to a normal rhythm once more, not so long as the image of Thorin Oakenshield’s immaculate figure was etched into her brain. Not so long as she was aware of the fact that the very same figure still lingered just within the room behind her.  
     She shook her head, vehemently trying to rid her mind of the erratic thoughts zipping in and out of her consciousness, and at once she started walking briskly back through the hallways in search of Balin, putting as much distance between herself and the object of her errant thoughts.  
     When she found him he was somewhat busy, extracting bits of wood from a gash in Kili’s right shoulder. It was a delicate process, made more difficult by Kili’s constant squirming and protesting. She stopped in the doorway, leaning against it for support, waiting patiently to catch Balin’s attention, not wanting to break his already strained concentration. She didn’t have to wait long to be noticed, however, for Fili, who was sitting close by Kili and offering words of brotherly encouragement to him, noted her presence. Balin turned his gaze on her for a moment, before returning to his work.  
     “Ah, have you done then, lass?”  
     Her voice seemed distant, as if it were not her own,  
     “Yes. I dropped off the linens like you asked, and I just… I wanted to see if you needed ought else?”  
     “Actually, if you could go ahead and get Thorin patched up for me, lass, I’d appreciate it, as would he, likely,” And with a sigh, “for I’m not sure how much longer this’ll take.”  
     Immediate dread blossomed up from her gut and into her throat, making it tight once again. She barely squeaked out her assent, sounding as accommodating as she could muster, before turning to make her way down the passageway, yet again. She fixated her mind on remaining calm and collected as she stopped by the supply stores in order to gather together the provisions she would need to tend to him properly. He surely wouldn’t allow her to stitch up his injuries if he saw her in such an agitated state, and she could not bear the thought of such an embarrassment. The last thing she needed was for him to believe her incompetent, thus giving merit to his reservations about her being here at all. She walked slowly down to his chambers, provisions in tow, and stopped before his door. She took a deep breath as she allowed a cordial expression to settle on her face. She raised her hand with determination and rapped _loudly_ on the door.  
     “Come in.” Came the low, cool reply.  
     She pushed open the door without hesitation and walked in, standing with as much authority as she could muster a few paces inside the room. He was stretched out on his stomach, atop his bed, his lower half wrapped in the towel that Balin had provided. He turned to look at her with an expectant expression on his face, which at once was replaced with shock, and something else, as he came to the realization that she was not who he had been expecting. He opened his mouth to say something, but she quickly cut him off before she lost her nerve entirely.  
     “Balin is indisposed. He has asked me to take care of your wounds.”  
     His mouth closed at her tone, and he regarded her closely for a moment as if letting it sink in. Perhaps because of her no-nonsense tone, he opted not to argue.  
     “Very well.” He consented in a deep, baritone rumble.  
     She stepped forward, dropping her supplies down on the trunk at the end of his bed, and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, nervously flicking her gaze up to him to look him over, assessing where she should even begin. He lay with his arms folded under his chin, staring off towards the wall, his breathing very calculated. _He must not be happy with this arrangement at all_ , she thought. She picked her skirts up and situated herself on the edge of the bed beside him, and, taking his left arm in her hand, began cleaning out the few cuts there, tenderly. He had hardened under her touch, and a bit of static passed between them, which had oddly left her skin tingling for a prolonged period of time.  
     She cleaned and bandaged in relative quiet, the silence expanding between them as they were both lost in their thoughts. She had calmed down considerably by listening to his steady breathing, and feeling his back rise to meet her elbow with his every breath. He had softened as well, though most likely only because of his preoccupation with his own musings.  
     She shuffled around him on the bed, taking care of each little scrape and every big cut, and after she had finished, she looked at the large laceration on his lower back and hesitated. Her lengthy pause pulled him from his reverie, and he looked back towards her inquisitively.  
     “What is it?”  
     She met his gaze cautiously, swallowing hard, “There’s one here…on your back. It, it will need stitching.”  
     His eyes widened marginally as the gravity of her statement sank in. _So he is aware then, how far it spans,_ she thought. He blinked rapidly a few times, at a loss for words, though she could tell he was formulating words that would effectively squash the idea of her stitching _that_ one, entirely. She drew in a deep breath, knowing that it needed to be cared for lest it contract an infection. Resolved, she swung her leg over him, to sit atop the back of his thighs, and planted her arm firmly across his upper back. He moved to slide out from under her until,  
     “Stop.” She clenched out, with perhaps more volume and severity than was needed. “This has to be done, and well you know it.” He stilled, letting her rational words register, and presently put his head back down on his arms with a mighty sigh. She noted that his breathing had become more rapid, and she wondered why he was so defensive. It’s not as though she would make it more uncomfortable than need be, and she surely wasn’t going to disclose it, if that’s what he was worried about. She sat back up, taking her arm off his upper back, apprehensively, and pulled his towel down in the most demure way she could manage while still exposing the entire cut.  
     She inhaled an empathetic breath as she beheld how raw and angry the cut was. She proximately set about delicately cleaning it, wincing with him every time he flinched or hissed from discomfort. She tried to be as quick as she could without sacrificing thoroughness, knowing it was painful for him. Despite her most determined efforts, she couldn’t help but relish the exquisite sensation of his thighs flexing intermittently between hers. _Concentrate, Jessa._ After she completed the process of cleaning the debris and applying a special balm, she threaded her needle with deft fingers and began stitching with precision, and a temperate hand. All of his muscles tensed and flexed as he endured her persistent prodding of his tortured flesh, yet he never uttered more than a grunt.  
     When she had finished a sufficiently uniform line of stitches, she severed the thread, and she spread a thin coat of the balm over the newly mended line of pink flesh. She carefully replaced his towel to its rightful place, and gingerly, as if she would incite some hidden wrath otherwise, she climbed off of him onto stiff knees, slipping off the bed to assemble all of her tools and clean up her mess. She let her gaze wander up to him, only to find him watching her interestedly. With all of her earlier bravado long since departed, she very softly asked,  
     “I did not hurt you overly so, I hope?”  
     He said nothing for a time, keeping his gaze in place, but then offered her a small, considerate smile.  
     “No, you did not.”  
     She offered him a timid smile in return, then picked up her bundle of medical supplies, addressing him cordially once more.  
     “I suspect Balin will come to check on you shortly, and to judge my handiwork. Should you need anything else…well, I’m just down the hall. As, as is Balin, of course. Oh, and you’ll be needing to rub that balm into each cut, thrice daily.”  
     He listened to her attentively, nodding his compliance at the conclusion of her instructions. She lingered a moment, not having aught else to say, but not quite ready to leave, but then she sighed and turned, gliding over on tired feet to the door. As soon as her hand touched the handle she was halted by his soft voice,  
     “Thank you, Jessamine.”  
     She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling shyly,  
     “You’re most welcome…Thorin.”  
     And with that she took her leave of him.


	4. Now or Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has a rough meeting with some foreign dignitaries, and Jessa turns out to serve as a healthy outlet for his frustrations. (Mature to Explicit content)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is smut, people. Pure and unadulterated.

    Jessa and Balin worked together in a comfortable silence, readying Thorin’s bedchambers for the night, for he had been kept much longer in his meeting than anyone had anticipated. Balin predicted that he would be very tired and weary from the conference, and believed it would be a nice gesture to prepare his room for him in his stead.   
     Thorin was meeting with some dignitaries from the Blue Mountains to go over the fine details of various trade agreements, alliances, boundaries and so forth. The meeting had begun promptly upon the dignitaries’ arrival around noon, and no one had so much as received a glimpse of Thorin or his illustrious guests since they had locked themselves away in his study. They hadn’t even emerged to dine for the evening, which concerned her a bit. She had thought: _It really isn’t good for him to skip a meal, it’s irresponsible, even.  
_      Balin was preoccupied with stoking up a blazing fire, and she was busy making the substantial bed up with furs and silks, when they heard familiar, thunderous footsteps advancing down the hallway towards them. She stilled, darting her gaze over to Balin for reassurance, feeling suddenly as if they were intruders about to be caught. He turned, facing down the door with hands propped on his hips, in anticipation of the oncoming storm.  
     The door swung ajar with a resounding boom against the stone wall, making her jump despite herself. Thorin breezed into the room like a thunderhead, running his hands through his lengthy dark tresses in frustration. He immediately began to pace about the room, puffing spurts of air like a bull, his fists clenching as if itching to strike out. Balin reached out towards him, placing his hand upon his elbow to still him. Thorin regarded him as if he had only just noticed his presence in the room, and his face softened slightly at the cheery, upturned face of his trusted advisor.  
     “What is it, laddie?” Balin pacified.  
     Thorin planted one solid fist on his hip and pinched the bridge of his noble nose with the thumb and forefinger of the other. He launched into a hurried explanation to Balin of the trouble of negotiating with dwarrows and how he had exhausted all his patience in trying to reach a suitable compromise on all accounts. He lamented their stubborn nature and cursed them for wasting his precious time. Balin simply nodded, evenly offering words of advice and reassurance to the exasperated dwarf king. In all this time, Jessa had neither budged nor breathed since he came barreling in, afraid that he might notice her.  
     After Thorin had relayed all his worries, he breathed a sigh of exhaustion, and appeared to be considerably calmer, save for the rapid rise and fall of his sternum.  
     “You’ll be hungry I’d wager?” Balin said in a chipper, persuasive tone.  
     “Aye.” Thorin mumbled.  
     “Right then, I’ll go and fetch you a bite to eat. I’ll only be a jiffy.” Unhurriedly, he shuffled over to the door, calling Thorin’s attention over to the frozen figure at the side of the bed with, “Jessa, dear, you go ahead and finish up here. If you would, please.”  
     Then he made his exit. The echo of his boots scuffing down the hall slowly dissipated, leaving naught but the occasional pop from the fireplace to alleviate the charged silence.  
     Horrified at having been pointed out, she turned her gaze on the looming dwarf king, who now stood with his arms crossed and feet steadfastly fixed to the ground. He was pinning her with a fierce gaze that was almost accusatory, and it made her skin prickle with… _fear?_ She couldn’t tell. She looked away hastily and fumbled about in an attempt to finish arranging his bed so she might make good her escape. She haphazardly tossed the remainder of the throws onto the bed, gave him a swift curtsy without meeting his fiery gaze, and fairly ran to the door.  
     Upon reaching the door handle, she gripped it firmly and yanked mightily just as his significant hand came down, right beside her head, slamming the oaken door back into place with an echoing thud. Her heartbeat soared into her throat as she looked to the offending hand, and apprehension crept into her gut as she heard his rapid, rhythmic breathing just behind her head. She could sense him standing just behind her, looming incredibly close, trapping her between the solid door and his own concrete form.  
     Abruptly, and before she had time to formulate any modicum of a plan, he clamped one broad hand on her slight shoulder and twirled her about to face him. Any rational person might have started throwing punches in such a predicament, but all she could feel was excitement scarcely cloaked in anxiety. His bright eyes blazed with intensity and they seized her breath immediately. His other hand came down with finality on her other shoulder, effectively anchoring her to the earth.  
     He produced a ragged breath, and then his lips were upon hers in a swift motion. He held her determinedly, his hands flexing in her chestnut curls, gradually pressing her back into the door with his weight. His lips were softer than she could have ever imagined them to be. They were not plump by any means, but they were strong and demanding as they pulled and battered her own with the intensity of his kiss. They were highly proficient, and they merged with hers perfectly. He exhaled heavily against her, his breath hot and moist against her skin as all the stresses and troubles of his day poured forth from his mouth and into hers. He delved his burning tongue between her lips, as if searching for her essence, and he issued a low groan as he found it within the recesses of her mouth. She was spiraling fast; she bore the depth of his kiss all the way down to her toes and it brought her every nerve to life with desire.  
     Suddenly, he pulled away from her, leaving her raw lips bereft. He gaped at her; with apparent dismay at his own behavior etched in his brow.  
     “I-I’m sorry, Jessa. Forgive me.” He rasped, sliding his hands from her shoulders.  
     “No! No, please…”  
     Tenderly, she took his troubled face between her hands, sliding her thumb along the line of his coarse beard over the smooth portion of his cheek.  
     “Please kiss me.” She beseeched with an airy sigh.  
     His expression changed from disturbed to impassioned once more as he doubled his arms about her waist, trapping her lips in another fiery kiss. This time she took the liberty of letting her hands roam through the soft waves of his sable mane, passing her fingers through the warmth confined there, starting from his temples, then moving over his scalp to the back of his head.  
     He dropped his head to the curve of her slender neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive flesh there as his hands traveled slowly up the line of her hips, over the dip of her waist, to the swell of her bosom in a prolonged caress. He straightened himself before her and looked into her shining eyes with his, which harbored unbridled fervor. He quickly gathered her skirts up with one hand and, dragging his other up the aching flesh of her quivering leg, returned his mouth to her eager lips. She had to shift her legs wider as his hand found its way to the apex of her thighs, to accommodate for the breadth of his exploratory hand. She whimpered against his mouth, relishing both the coarse scratching of his full beard against her face, and the flip in her stomach as his fingers cupped her gently in the most intimate manner.  
     His breathing hitched with hers as his finger dipped inside her wet slit. Leisurely, he eased his thick digit in and out of her, creating a glorious friction that she had been craving from him for weeks now. She surveyed his face as the rapidity of his movements started to escalate, but then his expression changed. He adopted a puzzled demeanor, and his hand stilled.  
     “Jessa… Are you-are you untouched?”  
 _Damnation._ She hadn’t thought of that. She was entirely too entranced in the unadulterated pleasure of being with him in this way, of embracing him and caressing him just as she had frequently pictured time after time in the passing weeks. Apprehension, and no small amount of embarrassment crept over her as a sluggish blush trickled over her already flustered cheeks. She dropped her gaze and swallowed hard, and in a timid voice responded,  
     “Yes.”  
     She kept her gaze downcast, expecting him to recoil from her now, and she could hardly blame him for that. She really ought to have disclosed this detail at the start. But, instead of withdrawing, he took her chin in his hand, pulling her face back up to his. When she hazarded a look at his face, she found him smiling warmly at her.  
     “Oh, Jessa.”  
     He kissed her with renewed vigor and tugged impatiently at the laces on the front of her bodice. He laid his warm, calloused hands on her shoulders, and slipped the dress off of them to let it pool on the flagstones around her feet. He kept a sound grip on her frame and pushed her back slightly so that he might drop his gaze to study her figure. She kept her eyes trained on his face, too dizzy with desire to feel any sense of shame before his scrutiny. In fact, she felt quite proud to stand before him thusly.  
     She was even more pleased with herself when his mouth parted slightly and his breath became more forced and lengthy. She very nearly missed him mutter ‘Mahal’ as he crushed her naked self against him, laying claim to her mouth once more. In her highly sensitized, lustful state, she felt the soft fur of his coat on her bare arms, she felt the frigid, unforgiving metal of his belt against her abdomen, she felt the bristly fabric on his arms about her waist, and she savored it all.  
     He seized her up, toting her over to the bedstead with natural ease, and placing her upon it with a soft thud. She watched him with bated breath as he began removing his garments, starting with his heavy coat, then his immaculate tunic, pitching them away with utter disregard. She inhaled a shaky gasp as she viewed his broad chest with unconcealed excitement; a smattering of dark curls descended down his torso in a funnel shape, concentrated in a much darker line past his navel, then disappeared into his trousers where his hands were now unbuckling his silver belt. She dragged her greedy gaze back up to his face, where his hooded eyes looked down on her with a dark and devious promise. He kept her gaze as his breeches fell down around his ankles, then he kicked them off into the general direction of his other discarded clothing.  
     He dropped to his knees at the edge of the mattress promptly, grabbing the soft flesh of her thighs, pulling her down towards him, and grinning devilishly at her when she gave him a look of apprehension. He wrapped his heated arms under and around her thighs, fastening her in place, then he turned his head to the inside of her right knee and kissed there, tenderly. She dropped her head back to the mattress, letting her eyes roll back as his delicate kisses meandered slowly up the inside of her thigh. The delicious tickle of his beard against her sensitive flesh and the feathery sensation of his long hair occasionally grazing her skin made her squirm, which seemed to please him because his low chuckle rumbled through her groin.  
     “Hold still.” He crooned.  
     She bit her lip on a grin, thinking again how this had to be another of her vivid fantasies, how she couldn’t possibly have the head of a dwarf king between her thighs. Her disbelief was cut short as his mouth closed around her swollen clit unexpectedly. She gasped at the vulgarity of it, yet, heady desire crept across her skin all the same. She couldn’t help but to raise her hips up to meet his flickering tongue, to stretch her arms above her head and moan out in her ecstasy. He reacted to her wanton display of desire by snaking one hand up her side to caress her breast and torture her aching nipple with his surprisingly dexterous fingers.  
     His tongue worked languidly and expertly, leading her to some unidentified pinnacle like a lamb to slaughter. She began to get irrationally impatient for something, but she didn’t know what.  
     “Thorin, please.” She murmured between clenched teeth.  
     She tried to pull away from him to cease the maddening sensation, but his arms tightened instinctively, keeping her legs spread wide and her hungry sex exposed to his relentless mouth. She writhed around as the intensity of his assault became nearly unbearable. Then, all at once she was tumbling. Her legs fought valiantly to close about his head, but to no avail. Every muscle in her body seized up as she tossed her head back and cried out at this newfound release. It was dizzying and disorienting, and it felt as though he were drawing out her very life force, leaving her trembling and weak, but incredibly sated.  
     She giggled as he released his hold on her, and came up wiping the evidence of her pleasure from his thick beard. Then he pushed himself up and dragged her limp frame to the middle of the bed, crawling over top of her. He brought his smiling mouth down to hers, and she could taste her own savory essence on his damp lips. His hair fell down in a wavy curtain around their interlocked heads, as if protecting their kiss from the rest of the world. He skimmed his fingers up and down her sides, sending delightful shudders through her, as though he were attempting to resurrect her desire.  
     And he did. She felt the hot rush of need shoot through her loins again as her greedy sex clenched around nothing, and her breath quickened against his. He groaned deep in his throat, and settled his wide set, masculine hips between her thighs, moving his hand down to fit himself to her slick and needy slit. She groaned as she felt the hot, engorged head of his cock prodding her opening gently, spreading her arousal over the entirety of her swollen sex.  
     Then, without warning, he swiftly buried his massive cock inside her to its hilt, locking his lips with hers to absorb her surprised and slightly pained cry. He stilled inside her, working his mouth on hers, coaxing her, until she was completely relaxed underneath him again. Then he pulled back, and shoved forth into her over and over again, setting a tantalizing rhythm of friction that seemed to only stoke the scorching fire within her. He filled her entirely, his thickness nearly splitting her, but she couldn’t get enough. She clutched desperately at his hips, trying to force him even deeper, gritting her teeth on each scream of raw pleasure.  
     His every grunt and growl only heightened her pleasure. Knowing that he was just as lost in her as she was in him overjoyed her. He then sat back on his heels, grabbing her hips and rotating them upwards. He thrust into her from this new angle, hitting an amazingly intense spot that escalated her to yet another peak, and then she exploded around him, her vision going black, dappled with stars. He muttered something unintelligible and thrust erratically, pumping himself up to his own release, then coming undone with a ferocious shout while sinking his fingertips into her numbed flesh.  
     Once he had done, he slumped over next to her with a colossal sigh. He gathered her up in his rock solid arms and held her tightly, their body heat and hurried heartbeats comingling. She breathed into him as the exhaustion from their passions overcame her entirely, and she smiled to herself. She was in his arms again, and that’s the only place she had wanted to be since the night of the boiler fiasco. She handed herself over to sleep without recourse, for she felt entirely safe & protected when near him, and she wasn’t about to waste that.

●●●

     When she awoke the next morn, tangled in the mass of furs on his bed, she blinked away the sleep from her eyes and recalled the events that led her to be lying naked in this massive bed. She bit her lip on a grin and turned over, reaching her arm out towards him. But her arm found his place to be vacated, cold from his long absence, and she saw no sign of the dwarf king.


	5. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessa wakes on the morning after her and Thorin's heated affair, alone and confused. She looks for a solution to the seemingly awkward situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: feels and angst ahead. (Mild content)

     Jessa slipped from the warm, velvety sheets, placing her feet upon the icy flagstone floor. The chill settled heavily on her skin, prompting a violent shiver that rippled through her. She grasped the sheets tightly about her, basking in their residual heat with a contented sigh. She peered round the soundless, dank room for any sign that the dwarf she had lain with the previous night may yet be lingering. She saw no trace of him. It would seem he had left without a word. The room itself was eerily quiet, which almost seemed to mock her solidarity. The fireplace indicated that the fire had long since died, and she felt wholly alone in the still silence of the king’s great bedchambers. She was stunned, and she had never felt so dispirited.  
     She gathered her discarded garments in a clouded daze, her thoughts ensnared within the great mystery that is Thorin Oakenshield. She tugged her rumpled dress on stiffly, and quickly realized that her every muscle ached from their night of rampant passion. It was a bittersweet ache, though; one that is not wholly unpleasant. Once she had dressed, and after making certain she returned his room to rights, she fled the room as quietly as she could manage; for the impending gloomy corners of the room seemed to suffocate her. She absconded to her own quarters to gather her thoughts, and make herself presentable once more...  
     Jessa spent the majority of the day maintaining a low profile, slinking about Erebor with her head tucked down and avoiding the inquisitive gazes of those she came into contact with. After finding herself quite alone in Thorin’s bed that morning, she was considerably distraught, and altogether embarrassed for herself. She had recounted the proceedings of the previous night in her head an endless number of times and at great length, just trying to discern whether she had offered the dwarf king offense or not. _Perhaps he was unhappy that she had slept with him; perhaps she should have left afterwards. But, had that been the case, he would not have held her so closely, right? He would not have entwined his limbs with hers, or tucked the coverlet tightly around them, right? Why then, would he leave without a word…?  
_      After the midday meal had passed, and her spirits had only deteriorated further, she discovered that she needn’t have bothered with keeping her head bowed low, listening intently for a familiar baritone, or checking around every corner for a mass of sable hair, because he was clearly avoiding her. He had taken both his meals in his study, and likely would dine later that evening in the same manner.  
     She could, however, find no grounds to blame him for his apparent shirking. She should have recognized last night as the tragic occurrence it was, even as it unraveled before her. She had merely been an outlet for a day’s worth of frustrations, whereas he had been a divine paragon of passion in her hopeless romantic’s eye. And, what’s worse, she had encouraged, nay, _pushed_ him to those ends. He had tried to stop himself from taking her; something he knew he’d regret, and she had practically forced him to do it anyhow. She was entirely to blame for her current woes.  
     Honestly, Thorin, lord of the greatest kingdom of dwarves in all of Middle Earth; it would be scandalous for him to be seen with her in any case, if not for her humble means, then surely for her having been born of man. No, he would be expected to woo and marry a dwarf maid with royal blood and wealth, if he were to marry at all. She huffed a cynical snort at herself when it dawned on her how foolish her inclinations had really been.  
     In any event, she was incapable of hiding her melancholy, though she tried valiantly. She knew she had no right to be upset, but she felt a pang of grief for a love lost regardless. Balin had noted several times that she was more quiet than usual and asked frequently after her health. He even made more of an effort to engage her in philosophical musings, which she usually loved. Fili and his brother Kili had sensed it also, and made many an attempt to cheer her up; this included numerous off-key tavern songs, riddles, tales of battle, and no small amount of thoughtful gifts. Kili had taken drastic measures when his usual charms seemed to fail him; he deigned it necessary to follow her about the kingdom for a time, fussing at others to leave her be. It appeared as though he believed his own to be the only company she could endure. After a time, mercifully, his wayward nature sent him off in the direction of a heated argument between two blacksmiths, and she was left in peace.    
     This was how she spent her day; mindlessly passing through the motions of her daily responsibilities, and deliberating on what she was to do about the exceedingly awkward scenario that she now found herself. By supper time she had determined that there was only one resolution for it; she must leave. It would be for the best. She was, after all, only a pupil here which meant she would not be missed for her current contributions. And, of course, it would protect Thorin from the humiliation of addressing the discord between them, and that was the least she could do for him given her hand in the mess.  
     After she consumed a humble portion of veal stew and loaf, and made sure she could be of no more service to Balin for the day, she retired early to her chamber to gather her things in secret. She would leave a lighthearted letter to say her goodbyes, for she knew she would not be able to remain composed in person, which would only serve to bring up questions. It was cowardly, she knew, but she could think of no better approach.  
     She rested on her pallet for a spell, merely permitting herself a silent weep before she started to gather her possessions. She looked about the humble chamber, committing it’s subtleties to memory, and yearned for another solution. In the past month or so of her residency here, this had been her home. She had made friends with the dwarves, and assimilated with their alien culture, and she felt _safe_ here, _truly safe._ She had never felt that anywhere else, not since her own home was destroyed all those years ago. A single tear tumbled down her cheek only to be swiped away quickly. Then another fell, and was swiped away. Then another, and another, until she was forced to bury her face into her pillow and allow herself a more full bodied cry. A cry for all that she had grown to love here, and all that she would never get a chance to love. A cry for her adopted family whom she loved dearly; and for the one whom she feared she loved too dearly out of turn. And as she cried into the soft feather down bedding, she thought her heart might break from the torment she had thrust upon it so carelessly.  
     After exhausting her heart of all its sorrows into her now tear-stained pillow, she pulled herself up, and made her way to the small oval mirror hanging over her chest of drawers. She wiped her blotchy, flushed face, and smoothed her chestnut curls down. Then she seized a hard look at herself in the mirror, _how could I have been so foolish?_ She took a deep breath and opened the topmost drawer to get started on her most onerous task, stifling the last of her sniffles as she did so.  
     She had just emptied one drawer when there was a quiet knock on her door, so quiet that she thought she was imagining it. She discounted it, and continued rummaging through her belongings. Then there came a knock once more, this time more assertive. She left her drawer open, and walked to the door to open it gently, suspecting Balin was come to inquire after her again. _Bless him,_ she thought, smiling sadly to herself.  
     She opened the door to discover Thorin standing there instead, with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a tunic of crimson red, and his hair functioned as a stark contrast against the richly colored fabric on his shoulders. His eyes were dark, but they sparkled with a painful familiarity. She could only stare at him, dumbfounded, completely caught off guard to see _him_ in her doorway. He cleared his throat and it resounded through the passageway, bringing her back to herself.  
     “Thorin…?” She asked, barely able to conceal the disbelief which touched her voice. He offered her a small, weary smile and politely asked,  
     “May I come in?”  
     She blinked, hard. It took a few moments for her to fully comprehend his words,  
     “Of course.” She whispered.  
     She stepped to the side quietly, and he strolled cautiously past her and into the small room, leaving in his wake the scent of evergreen trees and woody incense. She shut her eyes tightly on the lump that rose into her throat and threatened to overwhelm her, as memories of passionate embraces and heated kisses flooded effortlessly back into her conscious. She closed the door silently, then turned to face him. She forced herself to keep her countenance cool and collected and folded her hands gracefully in front of her, but she could still feel the unmistakable quiver in her chest.  
     He looked about the room, as if he were appraising it, _probably noting that it was far too grand a stead for her_. Then his gaze settled on what little progress she had made in packing her belongings.  
     “Are you…going somewhere?” He slowly dragged his eyes from her things to look at her, awaiting an answer. She suddenly felt like a chastened child who’d been caught with forbidden sweets. _How apt,_ she thought.  
     She drew in a deep breath, panic rising like bile in her raw throat. She gathered her courage, knowing she’d need copious amounts of it in order to talk through the painful knot in her throat, without bursting into tears anew.  
     "No...no. I-I hadn't unpacked it from before, actually. I was, uhm, just now unpacking it." she fibbed.  
     He nodded sagely and stared to the side thoughtfully. He did not look convinced. Then he drew in a sharp breath,  
     "I should apologize to you. I should have never let what happened between us come to pass. It was inappropriate." He crossed his burly arms, and shifted his weight as if he were uncomfortable. Then he brought his gaze back to hers,  
     "I can understand if you feel you have no other choice, but I would hate to think that you are leaving on my account." His voice wavered slightly on that last statement, and he dropped his gaze again, quietly continuing, "Your presence here would be missed."  
     She felt as though she had been pierced in the gut. She wanted to sob so badly that her eyes pricked and burned from the effort of keeping the tears at bay. _I would miss you so much more,_ she thought.  
     "I just thought, that you would rather I left. Since you wish that what happened wouldn't have happened…if I were gone it _would_ be as if it never happened. I was trying to save you the embarrassment of broaching the subject." She watched as she absentmindedly kicked the toe of her slipper against a raised stone in the floor, "You needn’t worry about me bringing it up, though. I won’t. I can tell it bothers you.”  
     He shook his head slowly, his voice slightly strained,  
     "It's not that I wish it wouldn't have happened, or that it bothers me." His fingers played on the post of her bed, "But I am concerned that you might feel uncomfortable here now because of me. That wasn't what I had intended." His voice trailed off quietly on an unfinished thought.  
     She found that it was becoming increasingly more tiresome to keep herself standing, her legs wanted to either run to him, or buckle underneath her weight. Her eyes must be glassy at the very least, she ventured.  
     "I do not regret anything that transpired, not at all. I think therein lies the problem..." She looked up at him timidly, “I enjoyed it overly much, and I have no right to.”  
     She kept her eyes trained on him keenly, willing him to embrace her once more, to take those few large steps and catch her weary body before it inexorably hit the floor. Instead, he continued in a gentle tone,  
     "I have only remembered last night with fondness." His eyes fluttered, and she thought she witnessed a trace of a smile, "I have remembered it several times today...in truth." _Oh, mercy.  
_      He pinned her with a calculating gaze from under his dark lashes. She sealed her eyes firmly, drawing very shallow breaths as she felt now she may even faint. He swallowed hard, then firmly asserted,  
     “I don’t want you to leave, Jessa.”  
     She bit down on her lip harshly as a wave of tears heated her eyes, then a nervous chuckle escaped her lips,  
     “That’s good, for I do not wish to leave.”  
     He sighed deeply, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
     “I am so glad for it.” Then his eyes took on a mischievous glimmer,  
     “But, nevertheless, you must finish packing your things…”  
     She felt a stab of panic once more,  
     "Might I inquire as to why, my lord?" She nearly choked on her words, for they came in a hurry, and without the aid of forethought due to her state of unrest.  
     Without warning he rapidly crossed the distance between them with heavy footfalls, and took her face between his warm hands, rubbing his thumbs gently along her cheekbones.  
     “Please call me by my name, Jessa.”  
     He pressed his forehead to hers, his nose and lips brushing against her skin ever so slightly. The delicate braids in his hair swung like silver pendulums across his shoulders, and he took a deep, steady breath,  
     "I would have you inhabit my quarters henceforth," he said as his eyes burned into hers, anxiously awaiting her answer.  
     She clutched his hands upon her face tightly, fresh tears finally springing forth onto her cheeks. She could hardly contain the excitement in her voice,  
     "Wha-What?! You mean, you actually want me to stay with you? In your bedchamber?” She backtracked slightly, lowering her tone, “Wh-I mean, why?"  
     He chuckled softly, his eyes alight with warmth,  
     "Because I _want_ you there." He swiped his thickly padded thumbs across the apples of her cheeks, ridding them of the wet streaks there, “So long as you want it, too.”  
     She smiled sweetly at him, her once desolate heart brimming with tender fondness. The extremes of her emotions today left her feeling quite weary.  
     "Oh, Thorin. Of course I want it. Of course."  
     She kissed the inside of his wrist quickly, then ducked out from his grasp to set about gathering some provisions for the night. He stood with his arms crossed, watching her scamper about with a look of great satisfaction. Once she had her small bundle assembled he gently took it from her arms, and indicated towards the door with a nod of his head and his dazzling smile. She opened the door for him with a flourish, then strolled beside him down the hall bumping into his side every now and again. Then they slipped silently into his bedchamber, which no longer seemed so dark.


	6. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What sort of gift does one give Thorin Oakenshield? After receiving a gift from Thorin, Jessa endeavors to repay the courtesy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are loads of personal headcanons in this one, so I feel inclined to assert that they weren’t pulled from any of Tolkien’s works, but they are fluffy and satisfying all the same! (Mild content)

_Consort_. That is what he had titled her. He had told her that she would share his living quarters, and his bedstead. _Mistress, more like._ That she would be his, and she would never want for anything; that her every need would be provided for. _Concubine, rather._ That she would share his bed with him every night from that day forward. _Whore.  
_      Jessa lay awake in the cool light of a winter morning, thinking for the hundredth time about the designation Thorin had given her many weeks past: Consort. The word disturbed her, and it had from the start. It didn’t have any sort of romantic connotation, it simply indicated a formal partner. Perhaps that is what she didn’t like about it; because she certainly felt strongly for him, and the formality of the word seemed an insult to those feelings.  
     Thorin lay on his side beside her, still slumbering peacefully. Every trace of worry was purged from his face while he slept; it was as though he reverted to a simpler time when he wasn’t burdened with such royal purpose. He lay with one arm tucked up under her pillow and the other draped over her waist; his chest rose gently with every deep breath, creating a soothing repetition. He fairly radiated heat, which served to keep her every appendage perfectly toasty beneath their typical mass of furs. She brought her hand up to delicately brush a bit of hair from his face, and she smiled to herself when his nose twitched at the sensation. The twitch was followed by a deeply contented sigh as he curled his arm tighter around her, tugging her flush against his feverish body with no apparent effort.  
     She grinned broadly. She treasured the unintentional possessiveness he exhibited while he slept.  He never let go of her; he would embrace her tightly throughout the night, no matter what. She carefully traced her index finger through the dark, coarse curls on his chest, swirling them around the tip of her finger into individual peaks. This gradually roused him from his slumber, and he eyed her through groggy eyes. Upon noticing his watchful eyes, she offered him a bright smile and tugged on his beard playfully to accelerate the awakening process. He smirked lazily. He took her spirited fingers in his, pressing them gently to his lips. Then he turned his head to look back over the curve of his shoulder towards the window. The silhouette of his sharp features against the dreary winter light was beguiling; how could a single dwarf be so alluring?  
     “I did not intend to sleep so late…” He turned his head back to look upon her.  
     “But it is only just past dawn.” She chuckled.  
     He took her by the chin tenderly and kissed her. His lips were hot, and his breath even hotter as he worked his mouth against hers in an exquisite morning salutation. Then, all too soon, he was drawing away from her, leaving her deprived of his reassuring warmth and secure embrace. He tossed the furs back hurriedly, leapt off the bed, and sauntered over to his dresser; stretching his limbs all the while. She found herself admiring his ample backside as he pulled his breeches on, and continued to do so up until he tugged a thick, woolen tunic over his torso, which effectively concealed his pleasantly rounded rump. After dressing warmly, he sat down heavily on the trunk at the end of the bed to yank on his massive, fur-lined boots. He grinned shyly, and shook his head slightly when he saw her watching him attentively. Then as he went to run a comb through his hair and readjust his braids, he chided her,  
     “You should get dressed as well.”  
     She sighed happily, then stretched her arms out above her head and flexed her toes to banish the last of her lethargy. She slipped out from under the blankets dreamily, feeling that familiar ache all over that typically manifests after a night of passion with him. She smiled fondly at the recollection in secret, then she began pulling her own clothing on stiffly.  
     After donning a simple, yet heavy, cerulean gown which had an attractive black corset and fluttering bell sleeves, she seated herself at his vanity to brush out the tangles in her own hair. He came up behind her then, resting his hands on the back of her chair and observing her efforts through the mirror. He stood there for a period, watching her deliberately pull the bristles through each silken strand of her russet curls, seemingly hypnotized by it, then he kissed the top of her head brusquely,  
     “Wait just a moment, I have a gift.”  
 _What?_ She turned in her chair to watch him stride over to his nightstand, wherein he rummaged noisily. Then he procured a small, plain looking parcel, and walked back over to her holding it as if it were a baby bird, with a small smile playing on his lips.  
     “Here...” He offered the parcel to her, and she took it gingerly; looking to his face anxiously. He nodded to her smilingly, encouraging her to open it. She turned back around in her chair, pulling the soft flaps back one by one, neatly making her way to the contents of the package. She gasped softly when she found it: an ornate hair comb of the purest gold, with six elongated, curved prongs. It was encrusted with several flawless emeralds, all expertly matched in hue, which were arranged in the visage of a butterfly. It was immaculate, and entirely too beautiful to ever be worn. It would be much better served if it were framed and displayed for all to see; such was its beauty. It must be worth a fortune; more than she would ever see in her lifetime, to be sure.  
     “Thorin I…this is for me?” She whispered.  
     “Yes...I want you to have it.” He placed his hands upon her shoulders and squeezed lightly.  
     “It’s beautiful, truly. But, I can’t possibly accept this, Thorin.” His brow furrowed with consternation,  
     “Why not?” he asked accusingly.  
     She dropped her head, considering the fine ornament again and running her thumb over the delicate prongs idly. In a low, cautious voice she responded,  
     “It is far _too_ handsome, Thorin. I would not be a credit to its beauty.” She twisted in her chair offering it back up to him, and continued with a sad smile, “And it must have cost a fortune. I would feel as though I'm robbing you.”  
     His expression had turned to one of confusion as she spoke. When she'd finished, he gently closed her fingers around the little treasure with his own, holding firmly.  
     “You are mistaken, in that. And you needn't worry about the cost. Its value is far more sentimental than it is material.” He paused, then lifted his eyes to meet hers, slowly. “It belonged to my mother.”  
     She felt an immediate pang of guilt at that. _His mother’s._ She knew it must mean a great deal to him, having precious few things to remember her by as it was. Therefore, his gifting this comb to her seemed a colossal gesture, indeed. She tucked the nagging need to analyze the meaning of such a profoundly sentimental gift away in her head, to be revisited later. Then she smiled at him with sincerity,  
     “Very well. Will you do me the honor?” She lifted their still clasped hands up to him, indicating that he should take the comb.  
     “Of course.” He looked warmly on her with a glimmer in his eye. Then he took the comb from her fingers and twisted a section of her hair back from the temple, expertly securing the adornment in place there. Then he returned his hands to her shoulders to gaze at her through the mirror. She could see the unmistakable pleasure in his expression.  
     She passed her fingers over the comb carefully, then slid her hand over top his gracefully.  
     “Thank you, Thorin. I love it.” _As I love you.  
_      “You are most welcome. I love to see you wear it.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and inhaled a deep breath before pulling away reluctantly,  
     “I've much to get done today...”  
     She grinned playfully,  
     “You must hurry, then.”  
     He returned her smile with a small one of his own. Then he withdrew his hands from her slender frame and slowly turned to make his exit, shutting the door with a muffled thud behind him.  
     She sat for some time after he had gone, looking at the comb glinting and glittering conspicuously in her hair. It felt heavy against her scalp, and would assuredly take some getting used to; but she felt an enormous swell of pride in her heart to exhibit it thusly. If Thorin enjoyed it, well, then she would proudly wear it and tribute his mother’s memory as best she could.  
 _I must return the favor…_ she mused. Yet, she hadn’t the slightest idea of what she might give him; she knew nothing of his personal tastes or pursuits, not really. She looked to herself in the mirror, searching her own hazel eyes for counsel. _I must do some digging._ Yes, she would ask around for clues. For, who would know what he enjoys better than his own family?  
     She hopped up from the vanity, picking her skirts up to speedily exit the room. She hurried first to the kitchen to grab a quick bite of plain bread and goat’s cheese, exchanging pleasantries with the new cook there, Roxie. Then she continued on to find Balin, and hopefully to glean some precious knowledge from him.  
     She found Balin in his workplace as per usual, and he had a dazzling grin ready for her as he always did, which she returned with a smile of her own. She began helping him bundle the herbs he was attending to out of force of habit, and quietly worked with him to hang the various herbs to be dried. After an interval of comfortable silence, she mustered the courage to begin her inquiry.  
     “Balin?”  
     “Yes, dear?”  
     She took a deep breath,  
     “If you were going to give a gift to one of your companions, what would you give them?”  
     “Hmm. Well, I guess that would depend on who it is.”  
     She carefully put her next sentence together,  
     “Well, say it’s one who doesn’t give or receive gifts very often.”  
     He smiled, knowing all too well what she was after.  
     “Well, be it a male or female, lass?”  
     “Oh, we’ll just say it’s a male.”  
     He beat some devil’s tweed against the table, forcing the remaining burs from its stems as he considered her question.  
     “Well, strictly speaking, gifts don’t typically pass between dwarf men unless they are very close family or the gift is part of a treaty. Gifting is primarily a feminine inclination, and dwarf men are nothing if not ostentatious when it comes to their manhood. So, _I_ wouldn’t be giving any gifts.” He looked up at her pointedly, planting his hands on his hips. “But, gifts between man and maid happen often enough. I would choose something simple, since they don’t receive gifts often. Anything too fancy might just make him uncomfortable.”  
     “I see. Well, that’s not so very different from how my kin do it. I was just curious, of course!”  
     She exchanged a kind smile with him, then excused herself from his presence to glean yet more information from Thorin’s other close companions. Namely, his nephews.

●●●

     Later that evening, when the assemblage had convened in the common room after supper for pipe smoking and conversation, Jessa was brimming with excitement over her surprise gift. She had interrogated both of Thorin’s nephews at great length, and, after having deduced the perfect gift for him, made a run to Dale to acquire it. As well as gaining knowledge of said gift, she learned a great many things she had not known about Thorin.  
     She learned from young Kili that he adored honey, and anything with honey in it: Honey cakes, honey buns, honeyed hams, honey spreads, tea with a spoonful of honey, candied honey, & honey as opposed to jam, on biscuits. If it had honey in it, then Thorin coveted it.  
     She also learned from Fili that he very much enjoyed the fragrance of roses. She had been rendered speechless by that bit of information, because she has always used rose scented balms, lotions, and soaps for herself. She could not help but wonder if this proclivity of his was always a preference, or if it was a more recently developed taste. Fili, however, could provide no sound evidence for either possibility.  
     Jessa was sitting alongside Thorin, lacing her fingers in and out of his inattentively when she casually slinked into his own musings,  
     “I have a gift for you, you know.”  
     His brow rose slightly, and he appeared at once intrigued by her declaration,  
     "You do? And what might that be?"  
     She bit her lip on a grin,  
     “Oh, it’s nothing grand. Just a small token…” she looked up from their hands to his fierce blue eyes, “Would you like to see it?”  
     “Of course, yes.” He nodded with unconcealed eagerness, and she couldn’t help but beam at him in return.  
     “Then wait here, just a moment.” She leapt up from her seat, soundlessly darting out to fetch his prize. She returned just as quietly, and sank back down beside him, placing a small leather pouch in his hand nervously.  
     Inside the pouch was a quantity of exotic tobacco from distant lands; difficult to find, but much more tedious to acquire. She had it on very good authority that he was particularly partial to it.  
     He watched her face closely while running his fingers gingerly over the pouch, attempting to ascertain what it might be without looking. Puzzled, he looked down to the humble tanned pouch, and pulled the drawstrings cautiously to reveal its secrets. He stared blinkingly at the contents for a time with a look of confusion, then he seemed to realize,  
     “Oh...” his face broke into a broad grin, touched with wonder. He held the pouch up to his nose to breathe in a deep lungful of the tobacco’s spicy aroma, then exhaled slowly and looked back to her. “I've not had any of this in ages. It's my favorite...” His smile turned to one of mild disbelief and he shook his head slightly, “But, how did you know this?”  
     She chuckled nervously and twisted her fingers in the smooth fabric of her skirts,  
     “I have my ways…” She teased. She searched his face intently, “Do you truly like it?”  
     He smirked at her plainly roundabout answer,  
     “Absolutely, I do.” Then he jerked his chin towards the mantel piece, “Fetch my pipe, would you?”  
     She hopped up eagerly, retrieving his pipe and then extending it to him as she sat back down beside him. She watched as he packed the pipe meticulously, and also as he lit it and took a long draw from it, relaxing back into his seat as he did so.  
     “Mmm,” he opened his eyes sensually, “Oh, it's been too long...” Then he smirked, and teasingly asked, “Don't suppose you'd want to take a drag, eh?”  
     She held a hand up in mock refusal, “No. No, I think that it should be for your lips only…” Then she leaned back into the seat with him, watching him savor his gift. “I am very pleased that you like it. It was the least I could do.” Then she picked his hand back up in hers, lacing her fingers through his once more.  
     “Thank you.” He squeezed her hand, asserting his gratitude. They sat there quietly, listening to the fire crackling in the hearth and the varying conversations in the room. He took his time relishing his smoke, a smile playing on his lips throughout.  
     After the rest of the company dispersed for the night, and the fire was naught but a kindling in the vast fireplace, Thorin stood to replace his pipe and tobacco back on the mantle where they belonged. Then he turned to her, crossing his arms across his wide chest, smirking at her with a cheeky gleam in his eye.  
     “Now, perhaps you might permit me to thank you _properly_?” She felt a trill run up her spine at the tone in his voice, and her body ached all over from the intensity in his gaze. He was smoldering, and she couldn't help but wonder at the particular emphasis he placed on that word. She hoped that he was hinting.  
     He sauntered over to the door, opened it, and gestured for her to go through it. His eyes burned with sultry promise, and she was sure now that she had not mistaken his meaning. She was perfectly content with his sincere ‘thank you’, and bearing witness to his enjoyment of the gift was more than enough, but if he insisted...who was she to tell him no?

_To be continued in_   ** _Special Thanks_** …


	7. Special Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin thanks Jessa for her thoughtful gift in a very intimate way.This piece is very feel-good: gentle, tender, love making goodness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely smut. (Mature to Explicit content)

     The ancient wooden door closed with a soft click. Thorin set the iron bolt with another soft click, then he turned to rest his eyes on his fidgety companion; folding his arms across his broad chest, like he does so often. Jessa stood anxiously alongside the great bed, waiting for him with bated breath and butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She had been conjuring all manner of sensual scenarios in her restless mind from the time they left the common room up until this very moment. Thorin strolled up to her with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, the picture of quiet composure; such as a calm, motionless lake with deep running waters. A fitting contrast to her own composure, which was more analogous to a fresh spring tumbling tumultuously over jagged rocks in an attempt to reach such a lake. Eventually he came to stand directly in front of her, ever the impressive presence.  
     She searched his eyes excitedly. They were soft; full of appreciation and heartfelt gratitude, which was presumably imparted by the gift she’d just bestowed upon him not an hour earlier. He reached for her without a word; wrapping his thickset arms about her waist and pulling her against him gently. He hugged her snugly against his rigid torso, and she was hyper aware of the hills and valleys of his musculature through the luxurious fabric of his fine tunic, and also the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed precious life. He brushed a portion of hair back from her face and allowed his fingertips to linger on her flushed cheek. A small smile tugged at the corners of his darkly framed mouth just before he bowed his head to press his lips against hers.  
     He cradled her face between his rough hands reverently, and he kissed her with a tenderness that made her feel as though she might weep. She leaned forward into him heavily, giving the weight of her body over to the surety of his solid stature. He closed his arms more tightly around her, accepting the burden of her weight wordlessly, and without hesitation. Then he lifted her off the ground with care; hauling her hips up against his belly so that her breast was situated just below his chin. He broke their sensuous kiss, only to begin trailing heated kisses over the top of her breasts, and all about her collar bone. She grasped his shoulders for added support, for his arms were doubled around the back of her thighs, just below her bottom.  
     Her eyes fluttered beneath the delicious scrutiny of his lips, and she relished this gentle side of him. It brought her heart to a swell, and she felt exceedingly fortunate to bear witness to it firsthand. He held her aloft so effortlessly, it seemed, as he painted her pale skin to a rosy flush with his persistent, adept lips. His hair was thick and heavy as she ran her fingers through it adoringly, from root to tip. Her fingers stumbled upon the heavy gold cuff that he wore in his sable mane, and started rubbing it, idly. She studied the carvings etched deep within the brilliant gold, and wondered briefly at their significance.  
     He gradually eased her down the length of his body until her feet touched the floor again.  
     “Turn around.” He whispered in a honeyed voice.  
     She listlessly turned to face the tall window on the other side of the room. At once, he began pulling on the ties at the back of her dress, so she gathered her hair up and brought it over her shoulder in an attempt to help hasten the process. She peered out towards the fiery amber sky wherein the sun was beginning to set, and waited as he methodically dismantled her gown. Spindles of neon clouds were scattered across the horizon, and they reflected the light brilliantly back to her. It was a stunning portrait of gradient colors; it began with a vivid sky blue at the top of the window frame, and concluded with a white hot, golden blaze, merging with the line of the earth. The whole spectacle cast a warm glow about the entire room as if it were encased by hundreds of blazing fires. It was breathtaking.  
     Thorin bent forward to place a feather light kiss on her skin after each tie fell away. She sighed at the splendor of it. Once he had successfully unfastened the frock, he placed his weighty hands on her shoulders for a fleeting moment before he pushed the gown off her shoulders, sending it fluttering to the floor. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her back against him securely and descending upon her fair shoulder with a barrage of suckling caresses. His bristly beard scratched against her delicate skin as his strong jaw worked on each kiss, and his black plaits fell heavily against her naked back, teasing her senses. It was wonderful. The contrast of his being fully clothed and her being completely bare was thrilling. It made her feel exposed and vulnerable to his whim; and she couldn't help but feel exhilarated by such a disparity, and how it required her to fully trust him.  
     Then he relinquished his heavenly grasp on her waist,  
     “Lie down.”  
     Jessa did as she was asked straightaway; crawling onto the soft bed as demurely as possible. Honestly the bed was much larger than it ever needed to be, it fairly swallowed her. _Such is the nature of kings,_ she thought with a smirk. She laid back against the fluffy pillows in the center of the mattress with an airy sigh. She observed his aroused expression with enjoyment. She bit her lip coquettishly, and began twirling a tendril of her hair around her finger in an effort to tease him. He grinned knowingly at her, far too clever not to realize her aim. Then he shook his head at her in mock admonishment, and strode off towards the fireplace in order to build up a suitable fire for the evening. She rolled to her side as he moved across the room, following his movements with smiling eyes.  
     She watched as he tossed an armload of logs into the cavernous hearth, and as he crouched down to stoke the flames properly. Simply watching him thusly brought her great pleasure. She wagered she could watch him do such simple chores for eternity and never grow disinterested.  
     He stood after the fire was to his liking, and began to disrobe himself. He pulled the dark gray tunic over his head and tossed it onto the trunk at the foot of the bed. His hair fell effortlessly back into place over his broad shoulders. She loved his hair. She loved the distinguished, silvery streaks that danced in the light, she loved how dense it felt when it passed through each of her fingers, and she loved how, despite its thickness, it was as spun silk in her hands. He unbuckled his large belt next, then pulled it off and dropped it onto the trunk with a metallic thud; after which he dropped his trousers onto the flagstones and kicked them towards the trunk as well. When all was said and done, there was a substandard pile of his garments haphazardly strewn over and about the great wooden trunk at the end of his bed.  
     She drew in a sharp breath. She had seen this handsome dwarf king in such a state of undress many times, but she had grown no closer to becoming accustomed to such a vision. She wondered, casually, if all of the line of Durin were so tremendously well endowed.  
     She was apparently unaware of the overlong duration of her stare, for he was soon standing at the side of the bed, watching her with amusement in his eyes. She dragged her gaze up from his groin, over his taught abdomen and folded arms, up to his beautifully defined face, where his brows were raised in inquiry,  
     “See something you like?”  
     She grinned cheekily and patted the space beside her on the bed.  
     He simpered in return, then he slid into the bed with natural finesse. He lifted her legs carefully, and pulled the furs out from under her bottom to pull them up over the both of their naked bodies. His arms came forth to encircle her, pulling her flush against his chest. She sighed as his burning skin warmed hers instantly. His hard and furry chest felt positively sinful pressed tightly against her breasts and belly. His leg came over top of hers, pulling them forward to trap them in yet more of his scorching heat. She wondered if he ever really got cold.  
     After thoroughly trapping her body against his, he brought her chin up, beckoning her to look at him. He was smiling, a heartfelt and sincere smile of happiness. It nearly made her heart burst. He was thanking her in his own, subtle way; with his crinkled, bright eyes and his brilliantly white smile. She thought she could die right here, in this very moment, wrapped up so tightly in Thorin Oakenshield, and have no regrets.  
     He eased his head down to hers, ensnaring her lips in a tender hold as his hand moved from her chin to the back of her neck. He cradled her. He held her like a fragile and precious possession. His other hand supported her lower back; his fingers lightly skipping across her skin. It gave her chills, and made the muscles there tighten with anticipation of his next stroke. She sighed into his enduring kiss, striving to inch closer against him, though there was no spare space between them to speak of.  
     His hand moved down from her neck, trailing along the length of her spine and down to cup her bottom with his massive paw. She grinned against his mouth, and moved her own hand down his side to cup his bottom in the same manner. Her hand was not expansive enough to fit his plump cheek, nor was she strong enough to squeeze his taught behind in such a pleasing way as he squeezed hers; but he groaned against her all the same.  
     He tipped her chin back with his noble nose, then dragged it down the column of her throat as he deposited wet kisses, and darted his moist tongue against her skin. He continued his descent past her collar bone until he reached the soft swell of her breasts. He employed his hand in gently massaging and kneading each pale globe, while his lips and teeth expertly tugged on each pink nipple and his tongue teased every inch of sensitive flesh it could find. This resulted in a heady concoction of sensations that made her head spin. She arched into him against the lusty assault, and closed her thighs tightly around one of his stocky legs to afford herself some much needed pressure against her increasingly hungry sex.  
     As the sensitivity of her skin became nearly unbearable she pulled his head away from her bosom and up to meet her face; then ravenously descended upon his neck. She suckled on his zesty skin, and dragged his head back gently by a handful of his hair. His throat rumbled as he groaned against her probing lips, and she felt the unmistakable bulge of his cock as he pressed it against her hip, suggestively. She nipped on his salty flesh all the way up to his ear, where she tugged gently on the delicate lobe with her teeth. He hissed his appreciation and delved his hands into her long tresses to keep her mouth bound to him.  
     Keeping her clutched closely to him, he rolled her onto her back swiftly, and hovered above her. He pressed his hard cock into the plush flesh just below her stomach as he dropped his head to shower her breasts in kisses once more. She gasped quietly at the pressure he applied to each responsive nipple. She watched in a state of awe as he tugged each one between his teeth, then wrapped his mouth around it and suckled as if trying to soothe them from the offending bite. His fingers ever trailed along her skin, exciting her every follicle and bringing her to a heightened sense of pleasure.  
     She reached between their bodies to stroke his pulsing shaft gently, petting him affectionately. He pumped his hips into her hand ever so slightly and returned his mouth to hers, hungrily. She ran her thumb over the drops of moisture which formed at the tip of the engorged head of his cock, and applied just enough pressure with the rest of her fingers to make his throat rumble. Their kiss became significantly more fervent as her strokes continued. There was more passion in his movements and caresses as he, too, came to a more heightened sense of pleasure. Their bodies moved against one another in tandem, and their passions escalated into labored breathing and moans of longing for one another.  
     She moved to push him over onto his back, but was unsuccessful in budging him until he realized she was trying to move him. He then rolled over onto his back willingly, bringing her with him and keeping his mouth trained on hers. She remained bent forward in order to continue kissing his swollen lips, but reached down between them to grasp his throbbing cock and position it at the opening of her wet slit. She heard him growl with anticipation, and then she pushed her hips down on him deliberately, taking him to the hilt with a long sigh of relief. His eyes closed haltingly, and his throat worked on a lengthy groan. She pushed herself back into an upright sitting position, which pushed his organ so deep that it felt as though she were being impaled. It was wickedly wonderful. Her head fell back with a jerk, and she relished a moment of sheer bliss. Being connected to him in the most intimate way, having him buried deep within her core, being bared to him completely and a slave to their needs, it was raw. She shuddered.  
     He grasped her hips firmly in his hands, and massaged gently. He patiently waited as she soaked in the feeling. When her eyes fluttered open she found his watching her intently. They pierced her with his desire. Bolstered by his heated gaze, she braced her hands on his brawny chest, and began rocking her hips against him steadily. She immediately set to keening her satisfaction at the magnificent friction inside her with mild whimpers. Even the slightest movement against his downy groin caused her intense pleasure that rippled through her frame, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. As she rode him zealously, he massaged every available inch of her body. His hands wandered brusquely over her skin, they pinched, prodded, and squeezed her persistently. Very soon she lost all coherent thought. All she could feel was the abrasion of his massive cock inside her smooth sheath; the gentle rising of his hips to match her gyrating movements; and the continuous roaming of his hands on her tender skin.  
     She rocked back and forth rapidly, building up a quicker rhythm as she felt her orgasm impending. Her fingers gripped desperately at his furry chest. He slid one hand from its resting place on her knee and up to her sex, and used the rough pad of his thumb to rub her swollen clit in miniscule circles. She cried out at the resulting shock of pleasure, and dropped her head to his shoulder. She whimpered loudly against him, pumping herself along the full length of his cock. He kissed her temple and cheek sweetly -tenderly aiding in the pursuit of her pleasure. Her orgasm came on like a gentle rain; it trickled over every inch of her skin, seeping through sedately, and lasted for an eternity of unhurried ecstasy.  
     He smoothed her hair over the back of her head, and kept his lips pressed to her temple as her orgasm retreated like low tide. Then he slipped her wilted body off of his with caution so that she then lay on her stomach. She felt the bed dip on either side of her as he mounted her still quivering thighs. He leaned forward, his hair skimming her back, and fixed himself to her again gingerly. She groaned and lifted her hips off the bed to accommodate him as best she could. Then he pushed his sorely erect member into her soaked sex with ease. He braced his hands on either side of her lean shoulders, and started pumping into her deeply, and with purpose. His body was pressed close to her back as he thrust into her repeatedly, quickly bringing her to a writhing pool of pleasure again. She clutched an armload of pillows to her, moaning through clenched teeth and a set jaw. Their breath came quickly, and they grunted and groaned simultaneously as he brought them both to the precipice of a sexual high. She felt she was bordering on the edge of madness, and she pleaded in a breathy voice for him to plunge deeper, to thrust harder. He growled and obliged with haste.    
     The next thing she knew she was screaming into the mattress with a raw voice, and her muscles drew up against a much more intense orgasm than the last. She heard him shout behind her, and felt his hot seed filling her womb in intermittent spurts. They came together in an erotic duet, until he collapsed beside her: a sweaty, exhausted mess. She was breathing shallowly, her head swimming and her thoughts disjointed. She felt weightless and numb; a post coital euphoria.    
     After a time, he caught his breath again, and turned to gather her up against his damp chest. He held her soothingly, and smoothed the dampened hair from her rosy face. He nuzzled her neck lightly, and rubbed her back until she opened her eyes and rejoined the world of the living. She found him looking at her attentively. He tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear, then traced the shell of it lightly while his other arm kept her tightly pinned to him. They laid there for a long while in silence, gazing at each other, each clearly lost in deep contemplation while he continued soothing her with a temperate hand. At last, he broke the silence with a low, soft voice,  
     “Thank you.” She smiled softly up at him,  
     “For what?”  
     He looked at her for a moment, choosing his words thoughtfully,  
     “Everything.”


	8. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessa was content to keep her personal history to herself; to never let Thorin know the heavy and grim details of her origins. A visit from her beloved brother, however, makes her feel obliged to spill the beans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is where the 'original' part of my original character comes into play. Lots of angsty character development and tension between our pair. Caution: angst and feels ahead. (Mild content)

     “You have to tell him, sis. He has a right to know.”  
     Jessamine’s brother, Bronth, tipped his flagon up to take another hearty swig. It was after supper, and they were both sitting in the common room at a darkly lit table in the corner, speaking in hushed tones so that the other room’s inhabitants would not hear the context of their exchange. The rest of the company were employed in various leisurely activities about the great room; sanctioned off in small groups of two or three. Fili and Kili were arm wrestling at a sturdy table in the center of the large room; their shouting and bitter trash talk helped to more thoroughly muffle Bronth and Jessa’s voices. Bofur was lounging in a plush chair with his floppy hat pulled down over his eyes, and a pipe hanging from his mouth as he hummed to himself and rubbed his full belly. Balin was riffling through some parchment by an oil lamp, and making notes in his trusty journal; & Dwalin sat beside Thorin with his hands laced behind his bald head, enjoying their humble chat by the crackling fire and watching his not-so-secret lover clear the dining table through the yawning doorway. Thorin, however, seemed rather preoccupied. He sat very stiffly, and flicked his gaze over to the secretive duo in the corner, often.  
     Jessa’s brother Bronth looked to be her twin, with dark brown, curly hair, and the very same mystifying, hazel eyes. He was a well-traveled merchant, and a successful one, at that. He dealt with both large cities and humble villages, and was always fair and just in his business dealings. He even possessed a network of merchants to do much of his business for him, such was his level of achievement. He had built a fruitful empire from naught, which had far reaching influences. He had just recently struck a deal to supply the realm of Erebor, which was a veritable white whale for all tradesmen, with various sundries that they were in constant need of. Needless to say, she was exceedingly proud of his achievements. However, he was not merely visiting to settle his affairs with the king, he was also here to check up on his baby sister; though he wouldn’t openly admit that to her.  
     She had written several letters to him since she first began her tutelage in Erebor many moons past. Her letters detailed her newfound duties, the various odd people she met, and the strange customs she was learning each day. Each letter raised his level of alarm more than the last, especially once she had informed him that she had been named consort to the king. He had been preparing to pay a visit ever since.  
     Jessa dropped her gaze to her hands, which were fidgeting nervously on the worn tabletop.  
     “You know you must.” Bronth set his flagon down firmly and reached out to clasp her hands in his. He offered her a small smile of reassurance. “You needn’t be ashamed of it. We were given a bad lot in life, and we dealt with it as best we could. Better than most, I’d say.” He tipped her chin up so that she was forced to look him in the eye. “You know how dwarrow are, they are not known for their forgiveness. I do not believe that king Thorin is the type who will tolerate dishonesty. I think you must disclose everything with him, lest he find out by other means and cast you out for deceit. ”  
     Jessa shook her chin from his fingers, peevishly; she blinked hard against the oncoming tears. Of course, he was right. Thorin would likely be furious should he ever find out by other means. He would believe her to be treacherous and false for keeping it from him. She was progressively struggling to keep her composure with this unwelcome revelation.  
     “But,” she whispered through a knot in her throat, “what if I lose him because of it?” She looked to her side nervously, then at him through glassy eyes.  
     Bronth breathed heavily, his nostrils flaring.  
     “Then he is not worthy of your affections, and you will come back home with me.” He flicked his gaze over to the stoic dwarf king. “If he could fault you for your unfortunate past, then he could never love you as you claim to love him.” He sat back heavily as he took another drink from his mug. He continued in a harsh, cynical tone. “And, honestly, is he really yours to lose? You’re his _consort_. What sort of affection could he have for someone he keeps around as a royal plaything?”  
     Jessa dropped her head in her hands on a strangled sob. The tears were brimming over now as her brother’s words shot straight through her insecurities. She cried quietly into her hands with her throat burning from the effort to contain a full blown wail. Bronth sat back up, laying his hand on her arm, supportively.  
     “I’m so sorry, sis. I know you care for him, but…from what I have seen today I just don’t think the feeling is mutual. He’s too apathetic.” Jessa hazarded a sidelong glimpse at Thorin across the way. He appeared to be…brooding? Certainly that didn’t denote apathy? His jaw was set, his arms were crossed rigidly, and his eyes were focused on the two of them with a cold intensity. _Oh, Gods. Am I so blind?_ She looked back at her brother, who had also turned his attention on Thorin, staring him down out of the corner of his eye. He had always been protective of her to a fault; and Thorin being a powerful dwarf lord made no never mind to him, apparently. She folded her arms on the table and dropped her head into them, letting the tears spill down her cheeks freely. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders as the level of her nerve diminished to a dying spark. What _would_ she do if she lost him?  
     Bronth sucked his teeth and drummed his fingers on the table lightly,  
     “Look, Jessa–”  
     “Please, Bronth. No more.” She croaked. She sat up, wiping the wet streaks from her cheeks discreetly. “I think I would like to go to bed now. It’s late.” She said stiffly. He nodded, and watched her stand from the table with pity in his eyes. “You leave in the morning, correct?”  
     “Aye.”  
     “Do not leave before I have seen you off, please.”  
     “As you wish.” He took her shaking hand and kissed it, respectfully.  
     She smoothed her skirts down and slipped out of the room as quietly as she could while avoiding the searing gaze that still emanated from the other side of the room. She knew, too, that if either of Thorin’s nephews saw her face they would immediately call attention to her distress. They cared for her, and while she appreciated their fondness she certainly didn’t want their misplaced helpfulness in this moment.  
     She was striding quickly down the dank antechamber, still keeping her sniffles and trickling tears to a minimum, when she heard his familiar voice,  
     “Jessa.” Thorin’s voice rang clear as a bell from far down the passageway behind her. She flinched a bit at the volume of it, and continued traversing the hallway, feigning deafness to his call. “Wait.” He fairly barked at her. She halted. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as she heard his deliberate footfalls advancing towards her back. She wrung her hands in front of her, willing herself to recollect her lost bravery.  
     She felt his hand land on her shoulder, but, it was tender. She hadn’t expected that. He held her slight shoulder as he walked around to stand directly in front of her. He ducked his head down to get a better look at her downturned face, then used his chunky finger to tip her chin up to his gaze. His eyes were questioning, and tinged with concern.  
     “What’s going on.” He asked cautiously.  
     She bit her bottom lip, hard, and tried desperately to swallow the knot in her throat that she knew would reveal her distress to him by way of a squeak in her voice.  
     “I have,” she took a deep, shaky breath, “I have to tell you something.” Her voice came out in a meek and feeble tone. She had tried for cool and even.  
     He took her hand in his, which was warm; oh, so warm. She would much rather have those hands cradling and caressing her again. He led her down the dimly lit hallways the rest of the way, to his bedchambers, and she followed obediently, without a word. He silently gestured towards the bed, indicating that she should sit, then he turned to bolt the door.  
     She sank onto the bed miserably and wishing for all the world that she didn’t have to do this unhappy thing. She ran her hands over the silky furs on the bed, trying to recall happier memories, which included them, for strength. He turned back around to confront her, and folded his arms over his broad chest with his hands cupped on each elbow. He let out a deep breath, and steeled his face before finally saying,  
     “All right, let’s have it then.”  
     He sounded cold now, distant and resolute. She dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap and bit on her poor, raw lip once more.  
     “Please…don’t be angry with me.” She glanced up at him to see his reaction. He only inclined his head to the side slightly, and remained silent. She drew in another rickety breath,  
     “I need to tell you a story, about myself.” She resolved to keep her eyes on her hands through the duration of her tale, for fear that his expression would melt her nerve. “I am not of dignified birth, I am sure you know. I was born in some nameless village of nameless men, to a man and woman whom I know very little of. I was two years old when a gang of bandits raided that village...they burned everything. They burned every meager hut, they killed every man, woman, and child in the most vicious ways imaginable. Except for Bronth, and me. He had the sense to carry me out to the woods at the first signs of trouble, where we watched our parents, and neighbors, die.” She swallowed hard. “He didn’t know what to do after. We were orphaned, and completely destitute. We wandered for days, looking for anyone, or anything. After a great many days we finally happened upon some town…I do not recall which. We were filthy, hungry, and desperate for guidance…” she trailed off. The lump in her throat grew larger and she was finding it increasingly difficult to speak clearly. She clenched her fists in her lap; familiar, repressed anger came back into her gut like an old friend. She finally bit out, “The world of men is cruel, and there is surprisingly little humanity to be found in it. We–we were taken in by some men to be–to be made…”  
     “Slaves…” Thorin whispered.  
     She dropped her head in her hands and began crying fiercely. She hurried to try and speak through her cries,  
     “They plucked us right off the street and carried us off. It was so easy for them, all they had to do was promise food. Here were two orphaned, faceless children without the sense to distrust strangers. Who would miss them? Who would try to claim them as their own?!” She sobbed loudly, her body curling further into itself. He remained quiet, and let the violent sobs leave her before asking,  
     “How were you freed?”  
     She pressed her lips together tightly and squeezed her eyes shut. She held her breath on another sob, and shook her head faintly.  
     “I wasn’t…not really. I, Thorin I…I ran away.” She pressed on hastily when she saw alarm cross his face. “My last master had died of old age, and I ran before anyone knew what had happened to him. I saw a beacon of a chance and I took it. I couldn’t bear to be passed on to someone else, like a piece of meat, least of all his son…” She looked at him, imploring him to understand. “Bronth had bought his own freedom not long before, so I found him, and he sheltered me, and he’s been trying to put away the money to buy my freedom as well. But, mine comes at an exorbitant price.”  
     He dropped his gaze, contemplating her disturbing tale. She watched him while anxiety bloomed in her gut. She felt panic rise like bile in her throat, and she scrambled for any words that might make him understand. “I’m so sorry, Thorin. I know I should have told you, I know. But, I didn’t tell you initially because I thought, if I told you, then you would feel obliged to turn me in, to let them come and take me away. And then you named me your consort. And I feel so at home here now; I feared that if I told you _then,_ that I would lose what I have here, with you. Because you wouldn’t want a fugitive slave sharing your bed, or you would hate me for deceiving you. I can’t leave you, Thorin, I can’t–” she choked and her words were lost. Her hands were trembling. “Please, don’t hate me.” She implored.  
     He kept his gaze down and rubbed his hands together idly.  
     “I don't hate you, Jessa.” He dropped his head back against the heavy door, looking skyward. “I do wish you had told me sooner, though.”  
     She hung her head, ashamed of herself.  
     “I’m so sorry.” She muttered. She lowered her head into her hands again, waiting for his absolution or blame. She could only reasonably expect the latter, though, so she offered some penance to him, “If you want me to leave, I'll go peaceably. I owe you that much.”  
     He shook his head slowly, his handsome braids swaying from side to side with the motion.  
     “No. I don't want you to leave...” he paused for what seemed an eternity, then took a deep breath and continued in a rather diplomatic tone, “My people do not condone the long-standing human institution of slavery, and we are _not_ obligated to uphold their claims upon any soul in our lands. It is not our way. Any dominion that anyone might have once held over you, simply does not exist here. No one may possess you without your consent. You are safe here. And so shall it remain, as long as you are under _my_ protection.” He looked to her more earnestly, “I swear it.”  
     Her head came up swiftly, and her mouth dropped open slightly from shock,  
     “You...you will allow me to stay, then?” she searched his eyes, “Am I not abhorrent to you now?”  
     He smiled at her, sadly.  
     “No, of course not…” he continued in a tender tone, “None of this changes what I feel towards you.”  
     Her gaze fell to her knees, and she picked at the heavy material of her gown,  
     “You mean, as your consort?”  
     He kept her pinned with his gaze, and countered in a serious tone,  
     "As my lover…and friend. As my source of comfort and stability. As the distraction of my days, and my joy at night."  
     She raised her face to his, puzzled.  
     “Wha–What are you saying?”  
     He smiled slowly, and stepped forward to take her graceful hands in his. His were very wide and thick, with a much darker complexion compared to her own, yet they complemented hers perfectly. He brought both of her hands together, and closed his around them both, gently. She raised her eyes from the warm and secure confine of his hands to his beautiful face, searching.  
     “I love you, Jessa.” She at once felt numb. She was too shocked to do anything but widen her gaze at him slightly. Nothing could have prepared her to hear those words. “There is no force on this earth that could take you away from me, apart from your own two feet.”  
     She made a noise that was much like a suffocating hen, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She took short, rapid breaths, and tears flowed down her face at liberty as she held his gaze in disbelief. He sank down onto the bed beside her, and pushed her hair back over her shoulder so that he might see her face better.  
     “I have for a while now, I think." he continued, "I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.” He rested his hand on the side of her face, wiping some streaks away with his thumb. “But, as it happens, you have slowly taken root in my thoughts and dreams, and my heart. I do believe I was doomed from the start.”  
     She sobbed loudly, and threw her arms about his neck in a tight embrace. She pulled herself up into his lap; for she suddenly had a colossal need to be as near to him as imaginable; to feel his warmth and strength. He immediately gripped her in return; and smoothed her hair down over her back in a comforting motion.  
     “Oh, Gods Thorin. I love you. I have loved you from the start. I love you so dearly it hurts almost always. I just…I thought that I couldn’t hope for– for you to–”  
     “Shh.” He held her head fast to his shoulder, and rocked her slightly as she wept openly on his tunic. He began to hum very softly, the low baritone of his vocals made her shiver. It was a deeply religious sound. It made her heart quieten and her soul seem at ease, despite having just had the upset of her existence.  
     After a short time, she settled down to but a few, intermittent sniffles. He kissed her temple lovingly and shifted her off his lap to lay her down on the bed. Instead of going to perform his nightly routine of building the fire, donning his night clothes, and snuffing the candles, he kicked his boots off with two careless thuds, and curled into bed behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and settled his chin atop her chestnut head.  
     He started to hum again. He kissed the top of her head, and nuzzled her hair adoringly. She turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. She needed to hear it again,  
     “I love you, Thorin.”  
     He smiled adoringly,  
     “I love you, Jessa.” He skimmed his fingertips over her cheek. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth and whispered, “My Jessa.”  
     She smiled, and leaned into him, wearily. She closed her eyes as a divine feeling of warmth and comfort washed over her. Very soon thereafter, she drifted off to sleep to the sound of Thorin’s deep, rumbling hum.


	9. A Brief Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessa had intended to merely bring Thorin something to snack on, and perhaps see how his day was going. Instead, she inevitably became a source of comfort and relaxation on a day when the king's patience was stretched thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decidedly oral attentions. (Mature to Explicit content)

     Jessamine ascended the dismally colored, stone steps with great care, as she did not want to spill the tray of food and drink that she carried. The aroma of recently steeped tea leaves and freshly baked biscuits filled her nostrils as she traversed the great, vaulted halls of Erebor on her way to the king’s study to pay an important visit. She passed by many a denizen of the great fortress city en route, and was greeted with the standard array of raised eyebrows and disproving looks; however, these silent judgments had not been troubling her quite so often since Thorin had confessed his feelings for her. Her spirits soared. He had said that he loved her, and he continued to remind her of it often; so often, in fact, that her heart was near to bursting at all hours of the day. So, bearing the revelation of his affections in mind, she was able to more easily bear the title of the controversial consort to the king in the face of his subjects and peers, who seemed to disapprove of her human ethnicity and common breeding.  
     She had tried to broach the subject of this scorn often with Thorin. But, each time she tried to tell him that her occupation in his bed had brought substantial derision down on him, he insisted that: it was his choice, she was well worth it, he was not at all interested in the gossip of the realm (about him or no), and forbade any further discussion on the matter before changing the topic entirely. His only assertion on the matter was to make her vow to inform him if any hostility was directed at her from his people, so that he might nip the impertinence in the bud, as it were.  
     All that unpleasantness aside, she grinned to herself as she imagined how pleased he would be to have a midday reprieve. Regrettably, he had remained engaged in his study with imperative business from the early morning hours when he crawled out of her warm, sleeping arms, to this very moment; while having skipped a few meals in the interim. And, it did not appear that he would be released from his royal burdens anytime soon. She had told herself that by bringing a tray of necessary foodstuffs as she was now, that she was only doing what any considerate, worried companion would do; as he was surely famished and in great need of sustenance. But, more importantly, she missed him terribly and this task was a perfect excuse to spend some time with him.  
     She soon arrived before the unassuming door that she knew to be his study’s, and very quietly pressed her ear flush against the antique wood. She listened for any voices that might be rumbling inside; heaven forbid she should interrupt a council. That would be mortifying. She stood there with her ear pressed to the door, scarcely drawing breath, for a solid minute, then presumed it was safe and slowly pushed the door open with one hand while balancing the tray of delectables in the other.  
     She stepped through the door with caution, and searched the room extensively to ensure that she was, indeed, not disturbing any proceedings. Her hazel eyes scanned over the characteristically geometric, yet posh, furniture in the royally appointed study until they relaxed on him. He sat behind his intimidating desk, which was twice as long as it was wide, made of rich, dark wood with detailed carvings, and dominated the room with ease; which was quite a feat given the sheer size of the territory. Though, despite its grandiose size, Thorin was not overshadowed or diminished by it. His head was bowed over some crisp parchment as his hand moved smoothly across it, writing diligently with a jet black quill. His muted black hair dangled loosely on either side of his face, and it brushed along the desktop softly with each slight movement of his head. From where she stood, she could faintly see that his brows were knit together, and his mouth set into a stern, thin line; it was his look of intense concentration. He seemed too preoccupied with his correspondence to have noticed her arrival. She watched him closely as she pushed the door closed behind her in much the same quiet fashion as she had opened it. Then, she glided over to the sitting area in the room and surrendered her burden to the low table that sat midst the stylish armchairs.  
     She sank down onto one of these prestigious armchairs, perching herself on the edge and sitting straight with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her ankles crossed, demurely. She watched patiently as he finished his correspondence, dropped the quill back into the inkwell with a clink, and let out a great huff of frustration. He leaned back in his mighty chair, and rubbed his face with his wide hands, gruffly; afterwards they dropped to the armrests of his chair as his head fell back against the headrest, heavily. His eyes were closed, which meant his thick, black lashes fanned over the apples of his cheeks. After a few moments of still silence, and him still being unaware of her presence, she cleared her throat, discreetly.  
     He started, his eyes flying open and searching wildly, and hand instinctively reaching for the sword that hung from the back of his chair. After quickly registering that she was the source of the noise, and that she was sitting in the room with him, he looked to her with mild disbelief rooted in his brow. His hand fell back down from the hilt of his sword and onto the armrest with a muffled thud.  
     “How in Durin’s name did you get in here?” He asked, slightly breathless.  
     “Through the door.” She smiled warmly at him. He blinked slowly,  
     “Well, yes, but…I _should_ have heard you.” She offered a slight shrug,  
     “Perhaps it is because you are accustomed to hearing the heavy footfalls of stomping dwarrow from leagues away, and I am much quieter than that.”  
     He smiled, wearily.  
     “Of course.” He assented. “Now,” he leaned forward and folded his hands on top of his desk with his thick fingers interlaced, “what can I do for you, Jessa?” Her name on his lips always sounded sensual, whether it was intended or not. It gave her chills.  
     She studied his jaded face; he looked exhausted.  
     “Actually, I am doing something for _you_.” She indicated towards the table. “I’ve brought some tea and biscuits for you, since you missed lunch.” _And breakfast._ She offered him a sympathetic, kind smile. “I think you could use a boost.”  
     His eyes dropped to the tray in question, and the corners of his stern mouth raised slightly,  
     “That is, indeed, a welcome surprise.” He began to rise from his desk,  
     “No! No, no. I’ll come to you.” She stood from the cushioned chair, and grasped the gleaming, silver tray once more. She strolled the short distance to his desk as he settled back into his chair, too weary to argue the niceties of who should meet whom. She popped the tray down onto his desktop, and began to pour him a cup of herbal tea. She regarded him discreetly as she poured; his gaze was clouded like a stormy sky, and he looked off to some fixed point, distractedly. She pursed her lips, “You’ve been at it for a long time, Thorin…”  
     “Hmm.” He agreed.  
     She placed the cup in front of him, and pushed the platter of biscuits she had procured towards him as well. Then she took her seat on the other side of his desk, sedately.  
     “I think you need a rest.” She offered, tentatively. He dipped a spoonful of honey into his tea, and took a biscuit from the tray. He chewed thoughtfully with his gaze still distant.  
     “Perhaps.”  
     She could sense his distraction as sure as one can sense an invisible spider in the night. Surely, such a level of diversion could not bode well for hopes of _any_ degree of productivity. _He must know that._ She dropped her gaze to her anxiously fidgeting fingers, and continued.  
     “You’ve been at it all day, in fact. You’ve not eaten since last supper, and no one has seen or heard from you all day. I even missed you leave this morning, and I was up rather early…” She looked at him uneasily, “I think you need to take a break. You’re stretching yourself too thin.”  
     He sighed,  
     “I can’t, Jessa.”  
     She watched him eat three more biscuits as she tried to think of a way to force him to rest, to stay his busy hand for a moment of peace. Then, it hit her.  
     “Perhaps... _I_ could help you.”  
     He chuckled, lightly,  
     “I do not think this is the sort of task that you could help with, darling.”  
     She smoothed her fingers over a crease in her skirts.  
     “What if I were to help you…relax? Would that help?”  
     He murmured disdainfully as he flicked his hand towards his newly finished letter,  
     “I don’t think I _will_ be able to relax until this damned lord relents from denying our caravans passage through his lands. Stubborn peasant.” He finished yet another biscuit in one angry bite.  
     She leaned forward, and lowered her voice to nearly a whisper,  
     “Perhaps you could more easily persuade this tiresome lord…if you were in a more _refreshed_ state of mind.”  
     He furrowed his brow,  
     “What do you mean?”  
     “Well…” she swallowed hard, fearful of his reaction to her yet unsaid proposition, “I mean, what if I were to take your mind off of the unhappy task completely, and have you focus on something else entirely? Something more…pleasurable. Perhaps, then, you could have another go at it with a revitalized perspective.”  
     He looked at her, warily.  
     “Do you mean to suggest…?”  
     She trailed her fingertips lightly across the lacquered, ornate desk surface.  
     “I’m simply asking if you would permit me to help...in a very specific way.” She looked up to his slightly shocked face, and was resolved in the direction of her thoughts.  
     He stammered,  
     “Well, I–I...not that I don't appreciate it, of course, but I can't see how that would help...”  
     She stood deliberately, and came round to stand behind his chair. She rested her graceful hands atop his strong shoulders, leaned forward until her chestnut curls mingled with his sable waves, and whispered closely against his ear,  
     “I think it will help more than you know.” She started lightly massaging his tense shoulders, “I think, you need it, darling.” She lowered her lips to the exposed portion of his neck, just below his ear, and kissed, very tenderly, the pulse there.  
     She could hear his breath quicken, and he tensed beneath her touch slightly; but he offered her no protest and made no move to stop her. She began to work his overwrought muscles with more pressure and precision, determined to make him relax under her touch, no matter how long it took.  
     After a time he began to roll his neck with her intensive ministrations, and soon thereafter he was completely docile under the firm kneading of her fingertips. Her hands grazed the weighty fabric of his coat as they left off his shoulders and travelled down the taut muscles of his rippling chest and abdomen. Her mouth returned to the tender flesh of his throat, where her lips suckled and caressed the exposed area beneath his ear. She settled one hand on his abdomen, securing him against the chair with it; and the other, ventured south to lightly rub his groin through his breeches. He groaned, rather audibly, at the delicious contact. He widened his dense thighs and shifted his hips in the chair to allow her easier access to his intimate organ.  
     “See?” she crooned in his ear. “You need it.”  
     Then, when a slight grin ghosted across his dour lips, she nipped his ear playfully with her teeth. Her hands rubbed across his thighs and hips in an attempt to warm his senses, to bring his frayed nerves back to life. But, always her hands returned to his groin, to crudely grasp and fondle him through his trousers. She continued her erotic endeavor until his brow was furrowed with an increasing need and his moans became more fraught. He didn’t speak, but then, he didn’t have to. She knew what he needed.  
     She slinked around the chair to stand before him. He looked up at her under thick, dark lashes with stormy, blue eyes which communicated erotic thoughts. She stooped forward, her russet curls bouncing against his broad chest softly, and lovingly seized his noble lips in a heated kiss. He immediately kissed her back with a strong fervor that weakened her knees, and it was tinged with a desperation that made her heart flip; she’d brought this to him. She pushed either side of his heavy coat aside to expose the thin tunic beneath it. Then she raked her nails down his virile torso from collar to navel, until she focused on his breeches, where her fingers worked to release the ties that concealed his cock. He groaned into her open mouth, and lifted his hips off the cushion to aid her in her undertaking.  
     She sank to her knees on the stone floor, and saddled up between his stout legs as she gently pulled his member free. He sighed in relief, from either the long-awaited freedom or contact of flesh, she knew not which. She at once could feel the vast heat from his cock seeping into her palm, and the blood that pulsed just beneath the thin, silky skin beating in a carnal rhythm. She wrapped her hand around the base of him, her fingertips unable to touch, and squeezed gently. She flicked her gaze to his face, only to see his exposed throat with his Adam’s apple bobbing on each hard swallow. His head was rested back on the headrest and his hands gripped the arms of his chair in anticipation, in other words he was lost in her lusty assault, seemingly unaware of the world around them.  
     She looked back down to his greatly erect cock, barely able to conceal her contented smile. She began to pump her hand up the length of him, swiping her thumb across the plump head, then pumping down until she felt coarse hair tickle the bottom of her hand, and over again.  
     “Oh,” he sighed his pleasure, “my Jessa.”  
     Her heart swelled with love, and she could think of nothing but how acutely she loved him, and that she desperately wanted to help him in any way she could. So, she sat back on her heels, for her knees were burning under her weight, and pulled her hair over one shoulder. She lowered her head down to his cock, and tucked her lips over her teeth as she wrapped them around the head of his penis. Her tongue flicked against the tender, plump flesh, and traced under the ridge of his head. Her hands were braced on his muscular thighs, elbows resting atop his knees, and she felt them quiver under her fingers as she teased his sensitive flesh with her tongue.  
     She gently plunged his cock into her mouth, tickling her own tonsils with it. She struggled to relax her throat at first, but was soon successful in accommodating the majority of his girth. She sucked in marginally, then began to bob her head over his cock in a slow, but deep rhythm. He exhaled greatly once more, and collapsed back into the chair, fully. She looked up to his beautiful face, and could practically see the stress and tension melt away from his brow and around his eyes as he was drawn into her torrid ministrations, entirely. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the tempo.  
     His breath gradually became more frenzied, and his every muscle worked against each spasm of his hips. She relished each throaty groan; his voice so deep that she could feel it vibrate in her knees. She relished the taste of him: a heady musk with salty overtones that, oddly, tasted sweet to her. She relished, also, the way he continually, and possessively whispered her name: _my Jessa._ She was stricken with the profound way that she cared for him, and fought to keep a flood of unexpected, sentimental tears at bay.  
     She was entranced in her paces; so entranced, that she was startled when his thick fingers dug into her hair tenderly, and gripped her head reverently as he neared his finish. His head had rose off the headrest, and his thighs were tensed beneath her hands. She braced her petite hands on him more steadily, and drove her mouth down with more determination. The more he tensed, the more she did, until they were both coiled tightly, like springs.  
     Finally, she heard his loud shout and felt his thick discharge spurt into her mouth, and slide down her throat. He gripped her head tightly as his orgasm endured, through each hot and salty gush of his seed and every violent spasm of his spent organ. Then he sunk back with a final, exhausted grunt and covered his eyes with one hand as he tried to catch his breath. She pulled her mouth back off of his cock, gingerly; cleaning him to her best ability as she went. She gently tucked him back into his trousers, and laced them deftly and carefully, as though she were packaging a gift. Then she sat straight back again, wiping her mouth discreetly, and smoothing her ruffled hair down.  
     When she looked up at him again, he was watching her from under the shadow of his hand. She smiled, shyly. He grinned brilliantly at her, then leaned forward to grasp her arms and haul her up into his lap. He laid his warm hand on her cheek, and kissed her lips with all the tenderness of an adoring mate. She melted into his strong arms and leaned into his perfect kiss as her hand rested against his beating heart. He squeezed her tightly, then broke the kiss to nuzzle her hair into her neck with mighty sigh.  
     “You were right.” He murmured.  
     She smiled warmly,  
     “I will not hold it against you, love.”  
     He left a small kiss against her neck, then pulled back from her. His face was soft; he now more resembled her favored lover than the distressed king she had entered the room to find earlier. She traced her thumb over his lower lip. She wanted so badly to stay with him, to sequester him from his duties and selfishly hoard him to herself. But, instead, she dutifully stood from his lap and brushed her skirts down.  
     “Well, I do hope that will help.”  
     He smiled languidly,  
     “I think it shall.”  
     She clasped her hands in front of her, and fought the urge to weep at the notion of leaving him. Her heart sank at the mere thought.  
     “Well,” she turned and collected his sullied dishes, “I will see you at dinner, then?”  
     She turned, with the tray in hand, to glance at him. He watched her, sadly; as if he were well aware of the emotions she was battling. Then he nodded, solemnly,  
     “You will. I look forward to it.”  
     She offered him a satisfied smile, then turned on her heel and breezed over to the door without another word. She opened it, and stepped through, looking back only as she pulled the door closed behind her. She caught a brief glimpse of him, smiling fondly, as he picked his quill and parchment up once more. Then, the door latched with a soft tick.


	10. All That Glitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessa is able to bond with the two young princes, especially the excitable Kili. During her well spent quality time, she makes a staggering discovery, and the subject of gold sickness rears its ugly head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and the chapter that will come after, both address the burning question of how Thorin is able to reign as king under the mountain without being governed by the special brand of illness which has plagued his forefathers: dragon sickness. With delightful appearances by the lovable sons of Durin: Fili and Kili. (Mild Content)

     “This way, my lady.” Kili drawled with a flourish of his hands. Her arm was tucked firmly into Fili’s as he and Kili led her down the hundredth staircase that day during their marathon tour of Erebor. She had made the odious mistake during breakfast of remarking on her utter lack of familiarity with the expansive realm, and her poor feet were now paying the price. Fili had suggested around a mouthful of bacon that she be given a tour, and then Kili piped up excitedly to claim that _they_ were best suited for the job. She had looked frantically to Thorin for an escape route, any escape route, but he only smiled indulgently at his nephews with a glimmer in his eye, and agreed with them. She wouldn’t soon forget _that_ slight.  
     Of course she would never lead the young princes to the truth of her aching legs and lagging interest for the trip on the whole, she couldn’t bear to quash their enthusiasm for the task; and the bonding time was crucial for the three of them, she felt. So, she soldiered on with an unwavering smile and polite questions through each hall, council chamber, training room, forge and gallery.  
     As their tour progressed, she noted that they continuously avoided a particular set of stairs which appeared to lead deeper into the heart of the mountain. There was an absence of light down the passage, which would effectively discourage anyone from venturing down there. When they evaded the passage a fourth time, (for their tour was poorly orchestrated at best, and their path overlapped itself several times over) she halted their progress, and pointed curiously for she could stand the mystery of the darkened staircase no longer.  
     “Pray tell, what’s down that way?”  
     She looked to their faces after no answer was immediately forthcoming, to see that they were exchanging uneasy glances with one another. She raised her brow in a silent command for an answer. Fili sighed,  
     “Well, strictly speaking, no one is allowed down there.” He whispered. Kili agreed with an exaggerated, sagely nod of his unruly head. She turned her attention to the staircase once more, at once intrigued and invested in the tour again.  
     “And, why is that?” She mused. Simultaneously, her mind raced to invent what might linger at the base of the steps, and her eyes desperately tried to penetrate the thick darkness for clues. Fili folded his arms across his chest; he seemed exceedingly uncomfortable with her question. Kili’s eyes darted to and fro as though they were about to be caught in the act of a woeful crime.  
     “Thorin won’t allow it.” Fili stated matter-of-factly.  
     “Indeed?” She dragged her searching gaze from the corridor and back to them, her eyes sparkling with an intense curiosity of the most precarious sort.  
     “No. Absolutely not, Jessa. We cannot.” Fili chided as he correctly guessed the direction of her thoughts.  
     “Even if we wanted to,” Kili whispered, thoughtfully, “it’s under lock and key.”  
     She pondered that intelligence for a moment, looking between their two contrasting faces. Fili’s was set, his will being one not easily crossed, just like his uncle’s. Kili’s was a mixture of bubbly excitement and apprehension. He would be her best bet.  
     “Well, do either of you knowledgeable guides know where this key might be found?” She asked, cautiously.  
     Kili snorted,  
     “Of course!” He blurted as though her question were absurd. Fili snapped his head to look at him, admonishing his careless words.  
     She smiled, triumphantly.  
     “Then we shall just have to retrieve it, won’t we?”  
     “No.” Fili said. “I won’t have any part in it. Kili,” he turned to look at his wide-eyed brother, “if you know what’s good for you, then neither will you.”  
     Fili turned on his heel, stalking down the hallway and away from the two would-be troublemakers. Jessa waited until he had disappeared from sight, and they were quite alone before turning to Kili with an expectant expression. He grinned broadly,  
     “I’ll go get the key.”

●●●

     It was impossibly dark. The flight of stairs ran so deep that no light from above touched even halfway down. Jessa leaned against the enormous oaken door, holding their single torch while Kili crouched before it, trying for the umpteenth time to fit the correct key of about a hundred into the intimidating lock. She scuffed her shoe against the damp flagstones, impatiently.  
     “I thought you said you knew what key it was?” She hissed, irritably.  
     “I said I knew _where_ it was. Not which.” He hissed back.  
     She leaned her head back against the door, blowing air out of her mouth and folding her arms over her chest, reflexively. It was much cooler down here than it was above, and the air was heavy and damp. In an instant, Kili had found the right key, turned the bolt, and pushed the door, eagerly. Jessa was unprepared for the sudden success, and thus her arse ended up in the floor on the other side of the door with an ungraceful thud. The torch fell beside her, burning diligently despite the tumble. She sat up immediately and turned in her sitting position while rubbing the back of her head, and was overwhelmed by the sight before her.  
     Gold. Mountains of it. Precious gems and golden trinkets abounded. Though their single torch was a but a flicker in the vast room, it reflected brilliantly off the precious metals, transforming them into a  roiling sea of warm, glimmering light that expanded as far as her eye could see. A single staircase leading down into the mass from the platform that they now stood upon, the abysmal ceiling, and a few enormous columns that supported the weight of the mountain above were the only interruptions in the titanic expanse of golden light.  
     She stood slowly on numb legs, and stepped up beside Kili with a gaping mouth; who looked as dumbstruck as she felt in the face of such immeasurable wealth.  
     “I knew it was here,” he breathed, “but I’d never actually seen…”  
     Her inquisitive eyes scanned the room, looking to find any point that would give her a sense of depth to the infinity. But, she could find none. She had heard countless tales of the wealth of Erebor, but the secretive nature of the dwarves left much to be desired when it came time to decide whether ‘twas fact or falsehood. Such riches, she had always believed, could only be the stuff of myth. Oh, how wrong she had been. A thought occurred to her in the middle of her contemplations.  
     “You said no one ever comes down here?” She asked of her still mystified companion.  
     He took a long moment to reply,  
     “No one. It is kept under lock and key always. Very few people are privy to the contents of this room.”  
     She furrowed her brow.  
     “So, all this…just _sits_ here?” He nodded infinitesimally, shifting his gaze to her warily. “But, I mean…” she looked back at the expanse. “It’s such a waste, isn’t it?”  
     He cocked his head to the side, working his lips on her question as though he had a response, but he remained silent.  
     “Think of all that could be done with this, Kili!” she was starting to feel her conviction grow with fierce enthusiasm. “Think of all the improvements that could be done to Erebor. Think of the suffering economies of the world that this could be invested in to great effect. Wealth is no good when it just _sits_ around collecting dust! Why on Earth would Thorin just keep it here?”  
     She looked to Kili, demanding answers from him. He was rubbing his stubbly chin,  
     “We _could_ use it for more mining ventures, I suppose.” He replied, dutifully. Then his eyes lit up, “Or to provide for a larger archery unit in our army!”  
     His smile was broad, and the look on his face suggested he was thinking of yet more ways such wealth could be distributed. She interjected once more,  
     “Perhaps he just doesn’t know what to do with it?”  
     Kili sobered, then tried to gently discourage her growing zeal.  
     “I, uh, don’t know. Honestly, he never speaks of it. In fact, he avoids the topic at all costs...” He chuckled, nervously; then murmured, “He’d be apocalyptically cross if he knew I brought you down here.”  
     But, she didn’t hear. Her mind was racing with opportunities.  
     “I must speak with him on this.”  
     She turned on her heel, rushing back through the door and up the flight of stairs; the thought of all the hurts in the world such wealth could cure spurred her ever faster. She was vaguely aware of some mild protest from Kili behind her, but she could barely concentrate with such exhilaration flowing through her veins. She was confident that, if he were aware of the infinite possibilities to do good, Thorin would seize upon them with equal willingness.  
     She arrived at his study door, panting for breath and flushed from her cheeks to her ears. She rapped loudly on the door, and pushed inside before the answering summons came. She could barely conceal her elation. As she marched into the center of the room, his gaze was pulled from the ledger he was reading, to appraise her wild appearance with a look of surprise. She was sure she was covered in dust, and that her hair was bedraggled from her adventures this day, but it mattered not.  
     “Do you have a moment?” She asked, still struggling for her breath.  
     “Well, yes, of course.” His expression turned to one of mild concern. “Is something the matter?”  
     “No, no. Nothing is amiss, I assure you.” She placed her hand below her bust onto her diaphragm, willing her breathing to steady. “I only wish to speak with you on your current investitures, if you will permit me.”  
     His brow furrowed, but his mouth lifted into a slight smile, amused with her vigor.  
     “Very well, then.” He pushed the thick ledger to the side, and leaned forward with his hands folded on the desk, “Let us hear it.”  
     In hindsight, she really ought to have taken a moment to prepare a pitch for her forthcoming suggestions. She would have to rely on her natural devices alone, now.  
     “Well, given the vast wealth at your disposal I feel there are a number of charitable and profitable ventures you really ought to be looking into. I honestly don’t believe you have to worry about loss at the moment,” she laughed lightly, “for you surely wouldn’t run out of wealth in _your_ lifetime, nor any number of lifetimes henceforth.”  
     His entertained countenance fell to one of a much darker origin; his jaw settled into an angry line. He looked at her sternly, and she felt at once chilled from his stare.  
     “What are you talking about?”  
     She opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. She pressed on, cautiously,  
     “I am sure you are aware that it is fiscally unfounded to let _all_ your wealth collect dust like that, dear. Why not use it to greater effect?”  
     His reply came in a cool tone with a bitter edge,  
     “I presume you speak of the hoard?” He pinned her with a steely glare, which unnerved her dreadfully, as he awaited her reply.  
     “Y-Yes. I, uh, saw a glimpse of it during the tour of the realm today…which you _did_ recommend.”  
     His jaw was working against his rising temper,  
     “ _That_ particular area is off-limits as your most gracious guides well know.” He sat back heavily in his chair, gripping the armrests to try and compose himself. He continued in a measured tone, “I’ll not hold this offense against you, as you were not explicitly instructed on the matter. But, know this from here on: _no one_ is to go down there, and _no one_ is to speak of it.” Then, with an intimidating resolve, “Do I make myself clear?”  
     The injustice of the situation made her blood boil, and her caution was scattered to the wind.  
     “Offense? Offense?!” She half-laughed at the absurdity. “What could possibly be so offensive about simply _viewing_ your mountain of gold when you yourself would readily forget it and let it disintegrate?” She regarded him, incredulously.  
      He stood from the desk abruptly, his chair scraping loudly on the floor, then falling backwards away from him. He slammed his palms upon the desk with thunderous clarity,  
     “You know _nothing_ of this Jessamine!” He shouted. “You will learn to hold your tongue on such matters!” He lowered his voice, no longer shouting; but his voice still cut her like a blade, “It is not your concern, at any rate.” He pushed away from his desk, moving over to the window which looked out upon Dale. He braced his hands on the sill, and gazed out upon the bright city with a stony expression.  
     Furious tears tumbled hotly down her cheeks; tears of disbelief, and betrayal. She stared at his back with ill-concealed contempt. She spoke hurriedly, trying to speak her words before her voice broke,  
     “You will forgive me, I had thought you held my opinions in higher regard than this. But, I also believed you to be kind, and gracious. I would never have imagined that you could be this cold, and selfish. You can be sure I will not make _that_ mistake again.” Her voiced cracked on the last of her angry reprimand, and she turned to leave his incorrigible presence at once. Before she stepped over the threshold she stopped, and whirled on him. “Do not scold your nephews for this. They were unwilling and I instigated the entire, unhappy affair.”  
     “Jessa, you don’t understand.” He said quietly, without turning to look at her. She heard him inhale deeply, “There is nothing I can do…I dare not.”  
     She squeezed her eyes shut, and lingered in the doorway.  
     “I only wanted to help.” She whispered. She braced her hand against the door frame and pleaded with him, “Help me to understand.”  
     He turned, then. His eyes brimmed with a sorrow that arrested her heart. She felt her breath hitch, and she felt the need to run to him, to hold him and comfort him. He nodded towards the chair across from his desk with a heavy sigh, indicating that she should sit.  
     She stepped back into the room, closing the door behind her, softly. Then she sat cautiously in the prescribed chair, her eyes never leaving his troubled face. He sat back down in his chair, also, and looked at her intently. Was that…shame, which she saw in his eyes? She had an ominous feeling that this tale would not be a happy one.

 

_To be continued in **A Burdened Crown**..._


	11. A Burdened Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin tells Jessamine his tale, and she is floored from the revelation of his past, and present struggles. After spilling such a distressing tale, it seems only natural that the dwarf king should need a familiar solace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A better explanation of this AU and my take on how botfa should have ended. Please bear in mind that this chapter was written before the release of The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies, and so therefore does not follow any of the events depicted in the film. Personally, I think it's better that way. (Explicit content)

_Gold Sickness._ Could such a thing possibly exist? Something that would seem more at home in a children’s fairytale? Jessa would have laughed at the absurdity of the notion were it not for the very real pain written on Thorin’s face as he relayed his tale in great detail. She thought the wiser of it. They sat in complete silence across the large desk from one another, which seemed to grow in size as the quiet wore on; Thorin wore a look of pain and deep angst, and Jessa wore a mournfully thoughtful look as she let the information which he’d imparted sink in.  
     Thorin had said that after the battle (which had taken place long ago when she was quite young and was apparently quite a bloody thing) he sustained serious injury and had to be carted off the battlefield for urgent medical care; else he would have surely perished. Once he was forcibly dragged away from the direct vicinity of the lonely mountain to receive proper aid, the gold induced cloud which had fogged his mind for some time, slowly dissipated. Once back in his right mind, he was disgusted with himself and his abhorrent behavior towards his friends and allies. Whilst on his sickbed recovering, he had ordered his trusted companions to make the arrangements necessary to hide all of the offending gold away; to stow it in such a way as he might never see it and suffer its perilous grips again. He had also made it clear that they should give what was promised to the people of Laketown before vaulting the horde, so that they might rebuild Dale. He would also see them allot the necessary amount of gold to restore Erebor to its former glory. Once those tasks had been completed, the horde was to be hidden deep within the heart of the mountain, and sealed away so that he might never return to madness.  
     When he was finally able to return to Erebor, in fine health once more, it was fully restored; Dale was near full restoration; and the gold had been effectively hidden from sight. His trusted companions had watched him very closely for a long time, with strict instructions to remove his person should he seem to be ailing again. After a time it seemed clear that he was free from the gold’s maddening influence; free to rule his long lost kingdom in peace for the rest of his days, so long as he didn’t risk a relapse.  
     She looked up from the lacquered desktop where she was fussing with her nails absentmindedly, to his downturned, grief-stricken face. Her heart ached for that look: that look of absolute shame; especially since it need not be there. He was the love of her life, of that she had no doubt. She had never known one as trustworthy, honorable, and proud as he; and to see him brought so low… No, that look would not do at all. Quietly she prompted,  
     “Thorin.”  
     He looked up from his own musings slowly, meeting her concerned gaze. His eyes looked despondent, and full of despair. She stood from her chair at once, and walked around the desk to grab his folded hands and kneel beside his chair while looking up at him. She pressed his hands to her lips, hard.  
     “Please don’t let this foolish mistake of mine make you despair.”  
     He shook his head slowly,  
     “It’s not your fault. I struggle with this daily…”  
     She squeezed his hands tighter, desperate to eliminate his melancholy.  
     “Thorin, you shouldn’t have to struggle with it. You quite obviously conquered the ailment. _You_ found a solution. You are the strongest of any man or dwarf I have known, both in character and in will; it should not haunt you like this still.”  
     “The knowledge of its whereabouts will never cease to haunt me, Jessa. It is so close to me, and I am ever teetering on the brink of relapse. The sickness has not been conquered...only buried. So you _must_ understand why I dare not tempt fate by broaching that subject again.” He looked to her with pleading eyes, imploring her to leave the subject.  
     She shut her eyes tightly, and pressed her lips to his hands again, steadily.  
     “Forgive me,” she mumbled against them with a shaky voice, “I do not ever wish to cause you such pain.”  
     He moved his hands from her grip, to cup her face gently and raise it to meet his gaze. His eyes shone as he spoke,  
     “I do not blame you. I should have confided in you sooner.”  
     “Well, then I’m sorry I forced your hand in such an awful way.”  
     “No.” he said with finality, “If I had spoken of this to you sooner, then it never would have come about this way. You are not at fault.” He turned in his chair to pull her up out of the floor and into the solid circle of his arms. “Let us speak no more of this…”  
     She snuggled gratefully into his chest; happy to be in the warm confines of his strong arms. He stroked the hair on the back of her head in a repeated motion, slowly; though whether he was soothing her or himself was anyone’s guess. She thumbed the silver bead which adorned the braid from his temple idly, like her own personal worry stone; and listened to the sound of his beating heart which always beat as steady as a drum.  
     “I love you.” She whispered against him.  
     His hand stilled as she spoke. Then he tilted her chin back with the tip of his index finger, to look into her hazel eyes. His own blue eyes shone with gratitude, wonder, and no small amount of love. Then he closed his arms around her tightly, and sealed his lips against hers in an impassioned, yet tender kiss. His lips softly coaxed her mouth open without resistance, and his slick tongue slid over top hers. The taste of him was intoxicating as always, for she had yet to build any sort of tolerance for him and she likely never would; he quite literally made her forget her surroundings.  
     She sighed against him softly and relaxed into his torso as his hand snaked up her spine to cradle the back of her head. She laid her graceful hand against the side of his face; her fingertips dancing up along his cheekbone to trace the shell of his ear. He murmured his approval as he shifted her head back to expose her elegant neck. His hand swiped her heavy russet hair away in one movement, then he trailed his warm lips and bristly beard along the line of her throat as he granted sweet kisses to her skin. She delved her hands into his soft hair, and gripped the back of his head, possessively keeping him in place.  
     He moved one stout arm to support her back, then skimmed the other down over her hip and to her knee. His fingers dragged her skirts up until he was able to slip his hand beneath them; then he grazed his hand up the length of her smooth thigh until he found the center of her arousal. He thumbed the little nub of her pleasure gently, and stroked her entrance with his other fingers. Her answering coos were swallowed by his persistent mouth as his tongue picked up the same diligent rhythm of his fingers.  
     She shifted in his lap to spread her legs wider for him, for she was all too eager to allow him any entry he so pleased. He took it as his cue to slip his wide fingers into her slick sex. Again, her pleasured moans were swallowed. His fingers gently pumped into her while his thumb continued its maddening circular motion, and it was marvelous. Her cooing turned to mewling, and she involuntarily began to twist her hips in time with his expert motions.  
     He released her lips, panting slightly.  
     “Jessa…” he whispered, “I need you.”  
     “No more than I need you.” She whispered back; half drunk already from his lascivious attentions.  
     He made a lusty sound deep in his throat, then sealed his lips over hers once more. He retracted his hand from beneath her skirts, then stood from the chair holding her firmly in his arms. He situated her legs on either side of his waist, and supported her bottom in each of his wide hands. She positioned her hands on either side of his face with a sturdy grip, and poured herself into a toe-curling kiss that momentarily paused his advances. When he’d regained mobility, he backed her up against the desk and perched her bottom on the edge of it. Blindly, he swiped several objects out of the way, sending a few of them thumping to the floor. None of the objects possible demise seemed to faze him. He laid her back onto the unwavering, oaken desktop with infinitely more care than was afforded the desk trinkets, as though he thought _she_ might break.  
     She looked up at him from under her dark lashes, and saw that his loving eyes brimmed with a mysterious sentiment. He leaned forward over her, and continued to hold her gaze as he untied the laces on her bodice. His breath was labored and forced from the effort to temper his overwhelming desire for her. She curved her hand along the side of his face, patiently waiting for him to finish his dismantlement.   
     Once he had fully freed the ties from her bodice, he spread the panels and shifted his gaze from her eyes to her breasts. He sucked in a ragged breath at the sight, then dropped his mouth without hesitation to one of the shapely mounds and began feathering kisses along the soft flesh. His hand kneaded the other breast gingerly; it seemed to fit his hand perfectly. She arched her back slightly with a sigh, pushing her sensitive breasts further into his sensual touches and delving her hands into his dense, shadowy mane. Tender teeth tugged on her aching nipple, then diligent lips soothed and massaged the rosy peak; all while his fingers rolled and pinched its twin. It was blissful. No one might ever claim that the king under the mountain was an inattentive lover.  
     Once he seemed satisfied with the hardness of her nipples, he planted a reverent kiss between her pinked breasts onto her sternum, his beard prickling the skin on her ribs, and returned his lips to hers. She greeted the kiss hungrily, for her level of arousal had peaked to a point that her breath came rapidly, as well as her pulse. Her sex clenched without warrant, desperately seeking that which would quell her burning lust, and knowing only he could provide it. Suddenly, she felt his fingers trailing up the line of her slit, testing her readiness. When his fingers were met with an overabundance of her nectar, he muttered against her lips with what she assumed was some curse of wonder in Khuzdul. Then his touch was gone, and her sex continued its pitiful spasms in its absence.  
     She heard the tell-tale sound of his buckle being released, and then the soft rustle of his breeches falling to the floor. He lifted her skirts to her hips, and pushed her knees upward and outward until her knees were very nearly touching the desk to either side of her shoulders, and she was displayed to him entirely. In that moment of vulnerability, she experienced a flash of panic at the thought of someone walking in to see them like this, and how mortified she would be. That panic was fleeting though, for very soon after he spread her legs did he press the thick head of his cock to her entrance. Then, _all_ was forgotten save for the glorious contact with his virile organ.  
     A husky groan escaped her lips, and she found herself writhing impatiently for him to put a swift end to her suffering. He traced the line of her sex with the head of his cock a few times, then returned his hands to the back of her knees to hold them steady. Then, patiently, he pushed inside her until he was buried to the very base of his shaft; utterly and completely joined with her. He stilled inside her; both to give her time to adjust to his girth, and to give them both time to acclimate to the overwhelming feeling of being so intimately attached. She opened her eyes onto his noble face, and placed one cool palm on his flushed cheek. He turned his mouth into her palm and placed a secretive kiss in the center of it; then his eyes opened onto hers, and the fire in them was unmistakable.  
     He started moving at a slow, but deep pace that had her nearly choking on ecstasy. The unhurried friction was almost too good to bear. He bowed over her to a point that his long hair brushed over her breasts and hardened nipples as he pumped into her with unbridled ardor. Both of their breaths came rapidly, and they panted in unison with one another as though the room were stiflingly hot. He released her knees to grip her hips instead, which allowed him to thrust deeper and more quickly. She grasped the edge of the desk below her with white knuckles, and tried valiantly to keep her frenzied cries to a minimum; but such fierce passion is not easily muffled and she was powerless to silence her moans and lusty sighs.  
     His powerful thrusts soon began to rattle what items were left on his desk, adding to the level of noise their passions made. Gentle hands skirted along her skin from her hips to her ankles which he circled his fingers around, then he pulled them up in the air and rested them on his own shoulders. He dropped one hand down between her quivering legs to rub her clit, and used the other hand to massage her tender breast. She gasped loudly, then arched her back off of the desk as she begged him never to stop. He smiled knowingly,  
     “Never.”  
     She felt that her patience was nearly shot. She thought that if she wasn’t able to come soon then she would be reduced to a puddle of desperate tears, which would be most unbecoming. She whimpered,  
     “Please, Thorin. Please make me come.”  
     He paused in his ministrations; then quickly, as if deciding it was urgent, lifted her and flipped her so that she was belly down on the desk with her feet on the floor. He swiftly entered her again, and wasted no time in resuming his impaling thrusts or his diligent finger work on her clit. She wanted to scream from the pressure and discomfort of her impending orgasm, and perhaps she was; she could hardly tell for sure.  
     “Oh, Gods!”  
     “That’s it Jessa.”  
     “Thorin…” his fingers worked ever faster, and his cock hit its mark of the most divine spot inside her with every single thrust. She cried out with each drive, and moaned in between, giving her voice no respite.  
     “Thorin!” she screamed as her orgasm finally burst. He groaned with relief as her orgasm tipped his own into fruition. He pumped deliberately until his organ was spent, and his seed depleted. Then he slumped forward over her panting body, resting his forehead against her shoulder blade as he caught his own breath while simultaneously bestowing soft kisses on her skin, often.  
     After a period of immobility on both their parts, he finally broke the silence.  
     “I love you so, Jessa.” He planted another lingering kiss onto her smooth skin, “My Jessa.”  
     She smiled weakly against the cool wood.  
     “I love you, Thorin Oakenshield.”


	12. The Braids The Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No hints for this chapter. Just read. ( /)w(\✿)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major trigger concerns. Fuzzy feels at most. (Mild content)

     Jessamine hissed quietly as she lowered her body into the steaming tub of water, slowly. She gripped the sides of the grainy, wooden basin tightly until her bottom touched down and she was overcome with the delicious sensation of being in a sweltering hot bath. Her nose was comforted by the smell of rose scented oils and salts, and she could well-nigh feel the watery concoction softening her entire frame immediately upon contact. She sank down with a deep sigh, which originated from her very core and resonated to her fingers and toes, until the water was tickling her chin and her svelte knees rose out of the water like two snowy mountain peaks.  
     It wasn’t even dawn yet. She had drawn her bath very early in the morning, all by herself, in the quietest manner she could possibly muster. She had felt the need for a hot bath since the evening before, and had set her mind to having one just before she fell asleep last evening in the arms of her dearest heart. Without opening her eyes, she knew that she had been successful in keeping quiet; for she could still hear the familiar noises of her beloved’s deep slumber that emitted from the large lump of furs on the bedstead. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes, willing her body to the stifling, yet comforting heat of the perfumed water. She thought, idly, that she could easily sleep this way…  
     In what seemed only an instant later, she felt two strong hands settle heavily on her submersed shoulders. She cracked her eyes lazily, and moved to see the source of the gentle touch.  
     “Shh.” He stopped her movement firmly, but softly, “don’t move.” He whispered.  
     She assented with another contented sigh, and settled heavily back into her niche. His hands began kneading her shoulders with an expert-like touch. If she could express her utter bliss in aught other way save moaning, she would have. His hands disappeared for an indiscernible amount of time, then returned with a wash cloth and plenty of flowery-smelling soap. He dragged the cloth over her shoulders and across her collar bone before dipping lower, his chest hovering above her head, to pay close attention to her breasts. He lifted and kneaded them each, and was perhaps even overly attentive in washing them; though, she would only count it as thoroughness on his part. She was also uncertain as to the professionalism he showed in his task when slipping the cloth between her legs, as she was almost positive that he rubbed deliberate circles on her most sensitive spot more times than was necessary.  
     He was silent for the duration of his attentions, save for once telling her in a low voice to sit up, and lean forward while he washed her back. When he had finished cleaning her from the neck down, he instructed her to lean back into his arms, where he carefully dipped her head into the water. He supported the back of her neck in one strong hand as the other massaged oil into her dark hair –methodically working magic on her scalp. It felt so wonderful that she curled her toes in delight.  
     When he had finished cleaning through each strand of her silken hair, he lifted her head back out of the water and sat her upright.  
     “Just a moment.”  
     She sat in a near daze, feeling so fuzzy and comfortable that she didn’t even think to wonder what it was she was waiting for. He soon returned with a large, thick drying cloth; and stood at the side of the basin with it outstretched in his hands.  
     “Up.” He instructed.  
     She grinned stupidly, and stood upon useless legs. She stepped carefully out of the tub and into the waiting circle of his arms where she was engulfed in a Thorin scented, linen cocoon. He lifted his wet, bundled charge and carted her over to a bench by the fireplace whereupon he perched her on her bottom and scooted the bench, and her, even closer to the flames. A knowing smile graced her lips as she thought that he must be thinking of the damp, winter weather, and how humans are so very prone to illness compared to dwarven kind –or so he had said to her before.  
     He strode off towards the vanity, still clothed in only his thin nightshirt and under-breeches, (which _did_ hug his stout frame so nicely) and fetched an elegant comb from the drawer there. He stalked back to her, and sat heavily on the bench beside her where he promptly began to comb through her damp tresses with infinite patience. They sat there by the fire in the cool, gray light of dawn as he combed the damp from her hair until it shone like chocolate silk; and she felt like a coddled kitten.  
     “Your hair is so lovely, Jessa.” He mused, dryly.  
     A blush tinted her cheeks from receiving his praises, and she smiled fondly. He placed the comb down on the bench to his side before taking a section of hair at her temple and beginning to plait it. He expertly created a uniform braid in a matter of seconds; which she thought was understandable given how long he’s had practice doing so.  His thick finger directed her chin so that she was facing him before he began to repeat the process on the other side. She watched his face as he worked; he was so collected and beautiful, every bit the epitome of his noble heritage. It wasn’t the first time she’d been spellbound by his person, and it wouldn’t be the last. She just couldn’t seem to come to grips with the fact that he returned the love she bore him with a ferocity and conviction that matched her own.  
     His crystal eyes moved from his diligent hands to her eyes, and locked with them. Those bright blue eyes which usually bore such wisdom, now seemed very serious –as though he had just imparted some great secret to her. His gaze seemed to stall the flow of time, and all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, and his breathing. It was as though the moment were suspended in an electrified web; as though it were of great importance and would prove instrumental in the future. But, all she could discern was that his eyes held a burning severity that was calming, rather than unnerving.  
     His electrifying finger suddenly stroked the side of her face very steadily, and time resumed its scheduled flow once more. She released the lungful of air she’d been holding, and smirked at him as she reached her hand up to finger each of the immaculate braids he’d just crafted.  
     “Like yours?”  
     He smiled very slowly until the smile touched his eyes and they glittered at her like cobalt medallions.  
     “Yes.” He said softly, “Like mine.”  
     She beamed at him even brighter. Then, she tilted forward and kissed his stern mouth very tenderly while wrapping her arms about his neck –the movement loosening her linen cocoon, and giving leave for the cloth to drop to her waist. Robust hands rested on her naked sides, and he returned her kiss with corresponding sentiment. She tightened her grip on him, and pulled herself up alongside him; her body’s awareness of him had become insistent and she had intentions to act upon it. Alas, all too soon he was pulling away from her kiss and unwinding her willowy arms from around his neck, firmly; but he offered her his most disarming smile, so the blow was softened slightly.  
     “Thank you.” She whispered.  
     The corner of his mouth quirked as his eyes continued to glitter.  
     “My Jessa.” He murmured as he trailed his fingertips all over her warmed skin. Just when she believed he might soon be taking her back to bed, he rose from the bench. She watched him move to his trunk, where he began mechanically dressing himself. “You shouldn’t fall asleep in the bath like that, Jessa.” He said calmly. For a moment she thought, for sure, that she must have contracted metaphorical whiplash from his sudden shift in disposition.  
     “I wasn’t asleep.” She defended, “I was resting my eyes.”  
     He turned as he tightened his wide belt, and gave her a doubtful, admonishing look.  
     “Indeed.” His sarcasm was palpable.  
     She folded her arms across her bare chest, then sobered to the hour of the morning. Her brow furrowed,  
     “Is it not a bit early to be heading to breakfast?” she inquired.  
     “It is.” He sighed, and glanced at her before looking away again, “I have a few things to attend to this morning; and I may not make it to this morning’s meal.” She stifled her initial urge to sulk. “So you may have to dine without me, my love.”  
     She remained silent. He completed his daytime attire with a heavy, brocaded coat with luxurious fur lining. Then, he plodded over to her once more where he placed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. He ran his fingers along one of the braids as he pulled away, letting it swing back heavily to its rightful place as he let go. He stood straight and regarded her with an odd expression before saying, seriously,  
     “Leave those in.” She reflexively reached up to touch one, silently acknowledging his request as well as her attachment to them already. After he was satisfied of her compliance, he turned and walked to the door with heavy footfalls. Before stepping out into the almost eerie hallway, he turned and smiled at her again.  
     “I love you, Jessa.”  
     And then he ducked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

●●●

     Not only did she leave the braids in, but she pulled the rest of her hair back with a comb in order to show them off better. It had been a few hours since their encounter this morning, and Jessa practically skipped down the looming hallway (now with its lanterns all lit) towards the dining hall for breakfast –she was famished.  
     She rounded the corner to the dining hall, and was at once greeted with the sight of her usual band of dinner companions. She knew instantly that Thorin was not in attendance, because if he _were_ there, then there wouldn’t be such rowdy laughter and flying foodstuffs. The ruffians were always better behaved when he dined with them. Balin sat as far to the end of the table as he could, reading out of a very old tome and dodging whatever bits of food that came whizzing by him. Fili and Kili were the ones filling the hall with boisterous laughter, while Dwalin filled it with loud shouting and cursing –and no small amount of mortal threats. And all of them were responsible for the flying fanfare.  
     She smiled despite herself, she did love their company, no matter how rudimentary. She stepped forward into the room towards the company to take her usual place. Once Kili caught sight of her approach, he did a double take, then promptly dropped the biscuit he was about to launch as his jaw nearly hit the flagstones. Fili soon caught on to Kili’s distraction, and he, too, adopted an air of utter shock, and fell silent upon viewing her appearance. She slowed her footsteps, at once alarmed by their respective expressions. She looked over her shoulder, tentatively, as she half expected to see some sort of horrid beast trailing her. Regrettably, no such explanation.  
     She turned her gaze back and was met with an _entirely_ silent gathering, with each face staring at her as though she _herself_ were a great beast. The only one among them who wasn’t stone-faced shocked was Balin, who simply had a warm smile for her. She took a seat at the table and felt woefully self-conscious as they were all still gaping at her, which was odd behavior given that they normally paid her very little heed. She expelled a great, heaving sigh of exasperation, and addressed them all in a wavering voice.  
     “Alright. What are you all _staring_ at?”  
     Most of them returned to their eating, and turned away from her as though they hadn’t been staring at all. Dwalin, Fili, Kili and Balin’s eyes remained fixed on her, though their eyes shifted away often as though she were uncomfortable to look at, like the sun.  She raised her brows, silently demanding answers.  
     “Well?” she barked.  
     Kili elbowed Fili in the ribs, hard. Fili spat out the mouthful of ale that he had been gulping, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he stammered on a few inarticulate words.  
     “Well, uh, you see, uh,” he cleared his throat, “it’s your, uh, hair –you see.” Kili whispered a few things into his ear. “Yeah, it’s just that those, in your hair, those are” more throat clearing, “those are Thorin’s…braids.”  
     She shifted her gaze from one dwarf to the next, and shook her head slightly as if to say: _So?  
_      Kili piped up,  
     “Did Thorin put those into your hair?”  
     “Yes…” she said dubiously.  
     “Tell her, Dwalin.” Kili chirped.  
     Dwalin looked to the dwarf lad, offended at being dragged into it.  
     “Well, don’t look to me, now. I’ll not be explainin’ to her this thing. Forget it.” He took another drink.  
     “Explain what?” she asked quietly.  
     She heard Balin sigh, greatly. She turned to him, imploring him to make her understand as her level of alarm was rising steadily.  
     “Well, lassie, it’s quite simple, really. It is a customary gesture for a dwarf to have a lady of his choosing wear his own braids when he intends to, well…when he intends to _wed_ her.”  
     Her heart stopped.  
     “It’s moreso a custom for royalty too, aye…” Balin continued. But his words were lost. She clasped her heart, and looked to the other dwarves for confirmation of this fact. They all looked at her as though she were about to detonate in their faces. Tears welled over and began tumbling down her cheeks as a tender smile touched her lips.  
     “You are sure?” she croaked.  
     “Thorin is very traditional…” Fili mused.  
     “Aye,” Dwalin grunted. “he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t want to…you know–”  
     “It wouldn’t have been a mistake, you see.” Kili interjected.  
     She placed her hand over her mouth, and fought back a barrage of tears. She was filled with such joy that she was certain she might float away. Nothing could have prepared her for this information. Nothing at all.  
     “Excuse me.” She managed to choke out.  
     She stood hastily, which was a risk because she could easily have fallen over like a sack of potatoes as soon as she stood; then picked up her skirts and raced out of the dining hall in a very indecorous fashion. She raced down the antechambers and flights of stairs and dodged a denizen or two in a hasty effort to reach Thorin’s study. Her cheeks became flushed from the exertion and her hair billowed behind her as each thundering footfall brought her closer to her goal.  
     She reached the door to the chamber, and pushed it open promptly. Stepping over the threshold, she gawked at his back: he stood by the mantelpiece, gazing down into the flames with his hands clasped behind him. He turned slowly upon her entry, and his face softened when he saw who had come barging in.  
     “Do you mean it?” she said hoarsely from unshed tears. “Do you really want to…to _marry_ me?”  
     His smiled widened.  
     “If you will have me, Jessa.”  
     “If I will–” she half scoffed, and shook her head in disbelief. She crossed the room quickly and grabbed his face in her hands. She kissed him, and tears fell freely. She kissed him with such a crippling depth of love as would melt the iciest snowcap while her salty tears stained both their cheeks. His arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace of desperation, as all his steady dignity was lost. His kiss was as urgent and frantic as her own; and they both seemed to be rendered incoherent by their profound affection for one another. He embraced her with a complete abandon, and nearly squeezed her beyond her rib’s limitations.  
     “I love you.” She croaked. “I love you so much, Thorin.”  
     “Oh, Jessa. _My_ Jessa.” His strong hands moved up her back to grip her shoulders, “I love you as fiercely as this mountain weathers the storm.” He retreated enough to hold her face between his hands, and he looked at her intensely as he spoke to her. “I do not believe I could live even one day without you, ghivashel. Mahal preserve me, but I love you.”  
     His thumbs instinctively wiped away each tumbling tear and he shook her slightly as though willing her to hear his words better.  
     “Will you endure eternity by my side, Jessa? Will you be my wife, and share the warmth of my bed forevermore? Will you,” he took a deep breath, “will you be my queen, Jessamine?” he asked sincerely.  
     She bit her quivering lip on a grin.  
     “Yes, Thorin. Oh, yes!” she laughed even as tears poured from her eyes.  
     His face broke into a brilliant grin, then, a rare occurrence: from his chest erupted a deep and booming laugh of pure joy that endured even as he crushed her in another tight embrace. She ignored the discomfort of his constricting hug, for she could only think of how eternally happy this noble dwarf had just made her –without jewels or gold, without extravagance or luxury, but by sharing with her two simple, unassuming little braids.


End file.
